Syrgja
by Lady Charity
Summary: None of this was supposed to happen. SHIELD wasn't supposed to find Thor and Loki on Earth three years after the battle. Loki wasn't supposed to be a silent shadow of who he once was. And the Avengers...weren't ever meant to have to endure the madness that would follow. "Cry, Loki. Cry."
1. Chapter 1

**Hello guys! I got so tempted to write an Avengers multi-chaptered story that I...wrote an Avengers multi-chaptered story. Since I'm in college, I can't say updates will be as steady as they were in the past, but I will continue writing nonetheless! I hope you enjoy...**

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None of this was according to plan.

Natasha was a veteran. At least, she considered herself at the level of SHIELD agent where hardly anything could surprise her, much less a minor inconvenience in the Way the World Ought to Work. But this was beyond breaking the plan. It was taking the Way Things Should Be, running it through a shredder, taking the scraps and pulverizing them under a laser. To put it in lighter terms.

"How much information do you have for me?" she said into the headset as she steered the quinjet over the towering dark evergreens. She could barely see anything even with the whitewashed headlights skimming the treetops in the midnight.

"Stark ought to be there already," Fury's voice said on the other end. "You just need to get the jet over there, collect the package, and get their asses back to the headquarters."

Natasha gritted her teeth, taking another dive to scour the forest ground for familiar figures. "Remind me again what package you're making me bring back."

"Trust me. You won't have forgotten them already."

Natasha flicked on a light in the pilot's seat to peruse the map. It would have been much more useful if she was at least fluent in Norwegian. "And what, whoever these people and Stark decided to take a vacation to Tromsø to admire the Northern Lights or something?"

"Something tells me those lights aren't much of a special sight to these people."

Natasha folded the map and threw it to the empty passenger's seat. "You don't actually think I'll jeopardize the mission if you tell me who I'm picking up, do you? I'm not awful at following orders."

"Your reluctant side might get the upper hand. Just fly the jet until you find Stark and a lot of other SHIELD agents on the ground."

She rubbed her head, feeling the sleep deprivation hang heavy on her eyes like sandbags, still mulling over the fact that she was minutes away—_minutes away!—_from signing out of SHIELD for the day and returning home before Fury lassoed her into this goose chase. Now she was across the ocean, her body cramping from sitting in one place for so long, and trying to steer a metal monster over a Norwegian forest at nighttime in search of who knows what. If this didn't warrant a raise or a fifty-two week vacation time for her, nothing would.

Her radar suddenly began beeping, a bright red light flashing as the green line spread across the radius continually.

"Sir, I got Stark's signal," said Natasha. "Half a mile north-west."

"See if you can contact him," said Fury.

Natasha fidgeted with her headset, static ringing in her ears. "Stark? Tony, this is Agent Romanoff. Do you copy?"

"Well, aren't you arriving fashionably late?" Stark's loud voice blared into her head. "What took you so long?"

"I'm flying a quinjet across the Atlantic Ocean. I'm sorry I couldn't juggle while doing so as well," she said.

"You might want to practice, because you'll think that easier than what's ahead," said Tony.

"So I've been warned," said Natasha. "Since when did you let Fury give you all the grunt work?"

"Hey, all I thought I was doing was meeting up with an old friend."

Natasha frowned. "Fly over the tree tops or something, will you? I can hardly see anything in this dark."

"Uh, kind of busy," said Tony.

"What are you doing, tweaking your laser guns?"

"That's not too far from the truth. Look, I'll flash a light and you follow it, all right? Can't let me do all the work."

Natasha gritted her teeth but gave her consent. Almost immediately after, a bright red light broke through the darkness like a bloodied arrow shot toward the sky. Natasha steered the quinjet toward the location, careful not to let the rotors snap the trees as she passed.

"Conveniently open area. Nice choice," said Natasha.

"That wasn't exactly the case earlier," said Tony.

Natasha lowered the quinjet, turning on the floodlights to aid her descent. From what she could see, a large crowd of SHIELD agents were encircling an open patch littered with snapped tree trunks and skewed branches. With the loose leaves flying about like a sandstorm she could hardly tell who was present besides Tony's garish suit of armor at the head of the crowd.

The quinjet landed on the uneven ground, sending dirt and twigs billowing at its wake. She moved to power down the quinjet and step out of the vehicle before Tony's voice interrupted her.

"Uh, might want to stay where you are at this point," said Tony.

"What, think this is too big for me?" Natasha said with a snort. "I'm a big girl, Stark. I can reload my own bullets and everything."

"Trust me. I'm aware," said Tony. "But we've got some stuff to bring into the quinjet that might need a quick getaway."

"What?" Natasha lowered the power until the rotors slowed so she could see what was going on. Over the agents' heads she could barely make out the familiar blond mane. Her heart jumped.

"What's Thor doing here?" she said. It had been three years since he returned to Asgard with the tesseract and Natasha had honestly believed she would never lay eyes on him again, and yet here he was, pressed against a tree, surrounded by SHIELD agents—why would he of all people be considered dangerous to them?

"Uh, Thor's not the only tourist," said Tony. "Open up your back, will you? The easier we can ship these guys in and out, the better."

"Plural?" said Natasha, pressing the button to open the back door of the quinjet. A gust of wintry Scandinavian wind crawled down her back and through her hair. She kept a wary eye at Thor. "Stark, what's Thor doing on Earth?"

With the back door pulled down, she could hear everything that occurred outside over the rumbling roar of the whirring rotors. Thor looked positively livid, his hammer held aloft and his other hand clenched behind him, as if he held something.

"Thor, put the weapon down and stand aside," an agent's voice shouted over the din.

"You come a step closer and I will not hesitate to fight back," Thor said, his voice grating with anger.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows. Thor was their ally, last time she checked. What could have possibly occurred in the numerous hours it took her to fly?

"Listen up, Big Guy." Tony. "You should have thought of this before you crash-landed on Earth. Just give him to us. We aren't going to maim him or kill him, so just—"

"Don't you dare," said Thor, clenching his teeth. "That is a promise I know you cannot keep. We are not here to play games or to start wars."

"Thor, just step aside. Natasha—help me out here, will you?" said Tony.

Natasha swallowed down a groan. Leave it to Tony to not give Natasha any details of what was going on and expect her to have all the answers. She adjusted her headset until her own voice blared through the quinjet's speakers, joining the earsplitting ruckus.

"Thor, please lower your weapon so we can talk," said Natasha, rising from her seat as much as she could to try to see behind Thor. His shadows carefully obscured whatever it was he tried to keep so close.

"If I do so, your men will come and take him from me mercilessly," said Thor, tightening his grip on the hammer's handle.

"Who is he talking about, Stark?" said Natasha.

"Might want to see for yourself so you won't shoot the messenger," said Tony.

Natasha rolled her eyes before finally craning her neck to see further. She could barely see the figure behind Thor, so swathed in the night. But Thor shifted back a step, forcing the figure to sidestep to avoid him, forcing himself into the sliver of light.

Natasha's eyes widened.

_Loki._

Three years did no crime to her memory of him. She knew him immediately, with the same chill down her spine and the clench of her heart like the first time she approached him. His hair was shorter, crudely cut as if slashed with broken glass, and his cheeks were so hollow that his cheekbones cast shadows upon his face. He looked worn and weathered, as if a single breath would shatter him. She nearly felt sick at the sight of him from both the bitter memories and his wretched state.

But something was off about him; even she knew this without truly knowing him. His eyes, though still bright and sharp, were fixed dazedly on nothing as if he dreamed without sleeping. She was no stranger to how he favored one leg over the other and how gingerly he held himself, however prideful and tall his composure stood. He was a hollow statue, towering and menacing, until a single nick could send him toppling.

"I swear to you, my friends," Thor said, his voice rising. "I swear to you that I do not mean to keep Loki here. I do not mean to linger. I only am passing."

"You shouldn't have brought him here at all," said the head agent. "SHIELD rules are rules. Your people promised we would never see him anywhere near here again and if we did, we were allowed to take action."

"I had no choice," Thor said. "Please, leave us be, and in a short while we will be gone and away."

Loki didn't appear to be listening. The exchange between Thor and the agents did not shake him, as if the words passed through him effortlessly and that they were meant for someone else beyond him. For a moment Natasha wondered if he was just another one of his projections, a reflection of Loki in another time, another scene, playing in the wrong place.

"You've already been here for several days by the looks of it," said the head agent. "If you were going to leave, you'd have done it already. Just drop the weapon and step aside."

Natasha had to hand it to Thor; considering their past experiences with him, it must be taking a lot of restraint that he didn't lash out on them here and there.

"I cannot move him so soon," said Thor, his voice almost breaking. "The travel will kill him if I do. Please, I'm just waiting for him to rest so I can bring him home. I beg of you."

Natasha suddenly felt a rush of sour resentment toward the head agent. Thor never begged. Thor shouldn't beg; he was their friend who helped them in their time of need even if he didn't have to, Loki be damned. She powered down the quinjet and stepped out into the cold Norwegian air, sliding her way through the crowd to stand before Thor.

"Sir, I think I should take it from here," said Natasha.

"You do not have the authority," the head agent said, trying to step in front of Natasha.

"Maybe not, but I think I have common sense," said Natasha.

"Get back to the quinjet and prepare for takeoff once we round these two up—"

"These two up?" Tony interjected. "You're telling me you're going to lasso up Point Break as well?"

"Leave Thor alone, he's guiltless," said Natasha.

"I am far from innocent," Thor said. Natasha turned sharply to his stubbornly set face. "I was the one who brought Loki here, not the other way around. I will not leave my brother in the hands of captors."

Natasha took this moment to step closer to Thor. Thor tensed, his knuckles turning white from the strain of gripping his hammer so tightly. She clenched her teeth; if Thor was so instinctively willing to defend himself against her, SHIELD was going to have a hell of a time trying to let him give up Loki.

"Thor, you know us. You know SHIELD," she said. "We're fair. We're doing our job to keep Earth safe."

"We bring no harm," said Thor, nudging Loki to step behind him. Loki did not budge. His green eyes were fixed on Natasha as if she was a painting to be scrutinized. She did all she could to ignore his presence. "Neither does Loki. He can do nothing to you. I promise."

"I trust you, Thor," Natasha said in a low voice. "We trust you. But we can't trust Loki. It wouldn't be fair to our people if we let him walk around here without supervision or anything. They'll be afraid, and live every moment of their day fearing for their lives."

Not that SHIELD would ever reveal that their three-year-past supervillain was making an encore, but Thor's eyes softened nonetheless with guilt and sympathy.

"I cannot let Loki away from my sight again," Thor said quietly. "Not even to you. I didn't want to frighten anyone, coming here to Midgard. I only wished for a place for him to rest. Please, Agent Romanoff—please."

Natasha discreetly bit the side of her tongue. She didn't particularly know Thor well, especially with the three year gap between now and their last encounter, but she couldn't find it in her to reject him when he was so desperate. This was why friendships were so dangerous in this line of work, she thought bitterly. Once someone caught sight of the soft spot, they'd have too easy of a time to bruise it.

"If it's rest you need," she said quietly enough so that only Thor could hear, "then we'll give him rest. Look around you, Thor. It's all wilderness. Wilderness or civilian territory. If anyone except us walked in on you and Loki, do you know what they'd do? They'd report you to the police. They'd send people that have no idea what you are on you. They'll realize you two aren't from here and they're going to take Loki away from you. They'll think you are aliens, or something entirely dangerous, and they'll try to attack you, or capture you like monsters to study. They'll hurt Loki that way even more because they don't know what he is."

Thor's breath hitched at her words. Natasha braced herself and her voice became steely.

"But SHIELD knows who you two are. They know the situation between you two all too well. They'll make sure you won't be separated from him. Hell, that cage they kept Loki in back in the hellicarrier will be nothing compared to what other forces could do to him. In fact, SHIELD has proper medical teams, agents, everyone to protect Loki. Help him." She let her eyes glance briefly at Loki, taking in his unnaturally ashen face and sunken eyes. He looked like a walking plague. "You—the both of you—come to SHIELD, and everything will be better off."

Thor hesitated before licking his lips nervously. "You mean it, Agent Romanoff?"

"Yes." She never understood how amateurs had such a difficult time saying such a word when it came to uncertainty.

Thor pressed his lips together before turning to Loki, no doubt taking in his brother's frail state and desperate need. Natasha held her breath.

"All right, Agent Romanoff," he said softly. "All right."

Natasha dipped her head before sharply turning her heel and walking back toward the head agent.

"Take him," she said under her breath.

Without another word needed, the head agent stepped forward and pulled Loki away from Thor. He shoved Loki down to his knees as other agents surrounded him, forcing Thor away as he shouted and thrashed for his brother. Metal clamps were immediately fixed on Loki's wrists and Loki's energy dropped considerably. He slackened, nearly slumping to the ground had it not been for some agents holding him upright.

"Don't hurt him!" Thor said. "You shan't hurt him—you said you would not!"

Natasha closed her eyes, trying to strain the guilt out of his words as they entered her ears. She swiftly turned back and boarded the quinjet, buckling herself into the pilot's seat and switching on the vehicle. The rotors gradually picked up their speed.

"Looks like you never really lost it, huh?" Tony's voice piped up behind her. She caught his reflection in the windshield, his mask lifted from his suit. "What did you tell Point Break that made him back off so easily?"

"Let's just say he might not be too chummy with me later," she said, watching the agents take Loki to the quinjet. Thor looked as if he was about to pummel every single living soul in the approximate area, but was doing everything to cap his violence.

"No surprise there," said Tony. "Ah, welcome, welcome," he said as the agents pulled Loki into the quinjet. Loki was barely supporting himself on his own feet as the agents roughly dragged him into one of the chairs. "Oh no, we don't need extra body guards, do we? Don't you all just stay in Oslo, or wherever it is?"

"Stark," said Natasha. She saw Thor enter behind them and she pressed herself tighter against her seat, as if thinking if she fixed herself in her place it would be harder for Thor to wrench her out and throw her across the galaxy, which she wouldn't be surprised if he was considering.

"You dare treat him like the kill of a hunt?" Thor said, wrenching the agents away from Loki. He caught Loki before Loki slid sideways from his seat. "Loki, are you all right?"

Loki raised his muddled eyes to Thor, a hint of hostility still evident in his eyes. Thor took no heed of it and stood up straight. He turned until he caught Natasha's eyes in the rearview mirrors. Natasha could almost hear the confession of hurt betrayal in his gaze and it took a greater deal of self-control than she reckoned to keep herself from looking away. She shut the door and powered the quinjet, steering it over the trees and back into the air.

"Well," said Tony, when everyone was silent. "It's nice to see you around again."

Thor said nothing, never taking his eyes off of Loki. Loki did not make so much of a sound as even a sigh. Should Natasha look away, she could have forgotten he existed.

"So," Tony said in his second attempt to break the awkward silence. "How about you take a kip in my tower while you're uh, staying around? I mean, it's a lot more comfortable than wherever SHIELD will take Loki, anyway—"

"I will not be away from Loki," said Thor.

"Okay, okay," Thor said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying—I've got better service and I'm served by artificial intelligence. You'll see Bruce too—you remember Bruce, don't you? He's got a floor to himself, and the other guy seems to like it a lot too. He'd be—er—happy to see you again."

"Save me your formalities, Son of Stark," said Thor with a heavy sigh. "We both know my reappearance is not of pleasantries."

"Fair enough," said Tony, leaning against the wall. "Natasha, keep your eyes on the road, won't you? Or whatever it is we're on."

"What are you talking about?" Natasha said, narrowing her eyes and concentrating on a dark wisp of cloud.

"You keep looking at the rearview mirror. Loki's not going to jump up anytime soon and shank you."

Natasha didn't deign to give Tony an answer. She gripped tighter on the steering levers, trying to clear her mind. The fact that Loki was behind her turned back, perfectly capable of doing anything to her, did not sit well with her. She didn't care what his story was, the fact remained that the last place anyone wanted him was here on Earth, if anywhere.

"Where are we headed to? The base in Washington D.C.?" said Tony.

"New York City," said Natasha.

Tony made a sound of disbelief in his throat. "Are you kidding me? We're dragging this pathetic ass to the place he tried to decimate? What sort of twisted humor is that?"

"Washington D.C. has its hands full with Doom's lackeys," said Natasha. "If we throw Loki in there, we would have a worse problem than if they were all set loose."

"Thor, what's up?"

Natasha let herself steal a glance at the rearview mirror. Thor was on his knees before Loki, his face drawn with pure anxiety.

"Loki," said Thor.

Loki was shuddering, his face so pale she thought she could see the thinned life flowing through his blue veins under his skin. His lips were almost translucent as they gulped for air, completely soundless. His limbs jerked and he craned his neck so that his head pressed against the metal wall.

"Loki!" said Thor. "Loki—he's hurt. He's ill. What's wrong?"

Even Tony was concerned and he crept carefully closer toward Loki. "What's going on with him?"

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth bared as he slammed his clenched fist against the wall behind him. He was the epitome of agony—Natasha could see it coursing through him in agonizing silence. She realized with a jolt that his chest was not rising—he was choking.

Thor reached out and took Loki's wrists. The heavy metal bands were clamped tightly over them, encasing shaking hands. Realization dawned on Thor's face and he turned sharply to Tony.

"Are these restricting his magic?" he said.

"Well—somewhat," said Tony. "We don't exactly have technology that considers magic in the mix, but these babies prevent an energy flow from making their full course around him, so it'll hinder it a lot—"

"Take them off," said Thor. "You must remove them. They're killing him."

"No," an agent piped up immediately. "That's against our orders. We take them off, he'll have his powers back and could send this plane flying into an Icelandic volcano."

"You do not understand," said Thor. "His magic was keeping him alive! He's been poisoned, poisoned by the Chitauri, and without his magic he'll die!"

Thor tried to rip the bands from Loki's jerking wrists himself, but the metal proved stubborn and deadly. Loki's eyes flew wide open as if he was immersed in a nightmare, his lips turning a shade of blue as he was slowly strangled by the unknown.

"Chitauri? Poison? What the hell is going on?" said the agent.

"Tony, _move_!" Natasha finally said. Loki's eyes were rolling back and he was falling forward. Thor caught him immediately, his own hands shaking with absolute fear as they tried to revive his brother.

Tony finally threw his hands up in the air as if in a what-the-hell sort of gesture before striding forward and ripping the keys from the agent's hands. He bent down next to Loki, pulling a writhing hand away from Thor's grasp and digging the key into the thin keyhole. With a small _pop, _the cuff fell from Loki's thin wrists and clattered on the floor.

The effect was immediate. Before the cuff even fell to the ground, Loki's body stilled, falling limp in Thor's arms as he took the quietest gasp of air. Thor held Loki tight, easing the smaller man back onto the seat. Loki pressed a white hand against Thor's shoulder as if trying to shove him away, but had no strength to do so. The resentment was not unapparent; his eyes glinted with aggravation and his lips were pressed together as if to bar his lashing tongue from attacking.

"I thought none of you were going to hurt him," Thor said quietly.

Natasha dug her nails into her palm. Guilt was a nuisance, banging at her door every night like a desperate caller.

"Sir, you did not have the authority to do that," said the agent.

"Well, boohoo, I had the responsibility of less than half of a decent person," said Tony, tossing the keys back. "He's got one cuff still. Just give the asshole enough to survive before Fury sees him, that's all. You there, agent with the keys, call Dr. Banner over to the HQ, won't you? It's about eight in the evening back home, he's probably not busy. So he can check on Reindeer Games and make sure he doesn't die or Thor's going to fry the place."

"Are you all right?" Thor said to Loki. "You don't—you don't have to speak. Just nod or shake your head."

Loki sat up straighter, finally mustering the strength to nudge Thor away from him. His gaze on Thor could probably skewer him if it were made of metal. After a while he tore his gaze away and stared down at his hands upon his lap, his face hidden. Thor resignedly retreated to the seat across from Loki, never taking his worried gaze from him.

The rest of the trip was in silence. Even Tony didn't try to interrupt the radio signals with spurts of heavy metal music to ease the tension. By the time the quinjet soared over the garish lights of New York City, Natasha's ears were itching from the silence filled only by the whirring of the plane engines. She directed the quinjet onto the SHIELD runway at its headquarters, careful not to jostle the plane as it touched the ground. Loki closed his eyes, his jaw tensing for a moment. His hands closed into fists and Natasha's fingers itched to hold her handgun, but he did nothing as the quinjet slowed to a stop and the doors opened. The agents immediately hauled Loki to his feet; they carried more of his weight than Loki did as he stumbled on unsteady feet out. Natasha unbuckled herself from her seat and made to get out before a large hand clapped down on her shoulder. She tensed immediately, spinning to find herself facing Thor.

"Oh," she said.

Thor's face was grave, but far from accusing. His sadness made something twist inside of her, the familiar sensation she knew she couldn't afford to remember.

"There is nothing for Loki's safety here, is there?" he said.

Natasha set her jaw. "Bruce will do better patching him up from whatever he went through than if you camped out in the Norwegian wilderness anyway," she said.

"Only behind bars and chains," said Thor.

"That's not exactly how we usually do it in SHIELD," said Natasha.

"I am not cross with you, Agent Romanoff," said Thor. "I know that you were doing what you felt you needed to do."

Natasha bowed her head slightly, as if to accept his reply but knowing fully well that he did not mean it as a compliment. His hand felt heavy on her shoulder.

"But that means that you will understand," said Thor, "that I will do anything to keep Loki safe. Even if your SHIELD will abhor me for it."

Natasha pulled away from Thor's hand and stepped out of the quinjet. It had taken a good six hours to fly to Norway and then another six hours to fly back; the hour was already late in the night in New York City and Natasha felt the heavy effects of sleep deprivation settling in her.

"What is it that you're hiding from, anyway?" Natasha said as Thor followed her to the insides of the headquarters.

"I am not hiding," said Thor.

Natasha snorted as she shoved the doors open. Immediately, Fury was upon them like a vulture that had waited long enough for its prey to croak.

"Thor, what is the meaning of this?" said Fury the moment Thor stepped through the doors. Thor almost took a step back in surprise. "I thought you and Undesirable Number One were supposed to be back in Asgard and that'd be the end of the story."

"We did return to Asgard after the battle," Thor said. "Where is Loki?"

"Where he shouldn't be—here on Earth," said Fury. "Why isn't he serving his punishment? Or are you Asgardian types content with a slap on the wrist and that's it?"

"Come on, Fury, give the guy a break," said Tony, taking off his armor. "We just came back from a six hour flight, can't you give us some slack?"

"Where have you taken my brother?" said Thor.

"He's locked up, all right?" said Fury. "Now tell me, what the hell are you two doing here?"

"You've imprisoned him?" Thor said, his eyes sharpening.

"Technically speaking, that's more than what you've done to him, it seems," said Fury.

"Banner's checking up on him," Tony said, saving Fury before Thor's anger could rise even more. "That guy couldn't even stand on his own two feet, so Bruce is—well, you know—making sure he isn't going to kick it in the second hour or anything."

"I must go to him. Please," said Thor. "He served his justice. He truly did. He served even more than that. Please, just let us be at peace and we will leave you alone."

"Served his justice? It's only been three years," said Natasha. "If anyone from Earth did such a thing, they'd be locked up for their entire life. Correction: they'd be dead by now."

"Time passes differently in various branches of Yggdrasil," said Thor.

"Okay, now we're dragging all that mythological voodoo spirit stuff into this," said Tony. "That's enough for me. Unless you're going to talk English and something more palpable, I'll pass listening to this."

"Please, let me just see him," said Thor. "He would not feel safe around you, even Son of Banner. Especially son of Banner."

Tony cracked a grin, apparently still reminiscing about how the Hulk threw around Loki like a toy the last time they were together.

Fury heaved a sigh, evidently reluctant of letting Thor and his big-brother instincts anywhere near Loki at this time.

"I will not break him out, if that is what you fear," said Thor. "I'd rather have him heal, even if it means—" He hesitated and glanced around. "Even if he must be kept under tight supervision."

"Down the hall, third floor, room seven hundred. That's where Banner is," said Fury. "Any funny business and I won't hesitate locking him up, and even you won't be able to get him out nice and clean."

Thor didn't need a second word before he rushed down the hall, disappearing up the stairs. Natasha exchanged a wary glance with Tony before tailing him to the third floor. The higher they ascended the louder shouts from various places above their heads rang out, bouncing off the linoleum and whitewashed walls. Natasha's hand was secured around her handgun, already picturing Loki tearing all the agents apart before whisking off, having tricked them all and especially Thor once again.

"You know," said Tony. "Maybe we should have just let them alone so we wouldn't have to deal with all this."

"Always looking for the easy way out, aren't you, Stark?" Natasha said.

They caught up with Thor at the third floor, the shouts dying down almost immediately. Natasha looked around, searching for splotches of telltale blood or agonized agents littered on the floor. It was completely still, save the frazzled medics rushing to and from room seven hundred. Bruce was outside the door, his face etched with weariness and his hair sticking up on its ends as if he went through a windstorm.

"Banner," Thor said. "How is my brother?"

"Sedated, at the very least," said Bruce, giving a sigh. "The guy threw a fit once they took him up here. If his bones weren't so broken I think he could have thrown some people through a wall."

"Was all that shouting from him?" said Natasha.

"No, that was the medical team," said Bruce with a wry smile. "He looked as if he was torn between running the hell out of here and zapping a couple people. Not going to deny he tried both at the same time. It took practically a gallon of sedatives in his veins to calm him down."

"Did you treat him roughly?" said Thor, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Of course not," said Bruce. "I never treat patients that way. Someone tried to pull up his shirt to check his ribs, since he was holding himself up pretty gingerly, and he snapped."

"Prude, much?" said Tony.

"You say that he has fractured bones?" said Natasha, raising an eyebrow. True, Loki definitely didn't look like he was in the best of shape, but even the way he moved didn't betray a traumatized bone.

"Left arm's almost completely shattered. If he was just another human we'd probably have to amputate it," said Bruce. "He's fine now. I mean, it's set and on its way healing," he added quickly when Thor opened his mouth to speak. "We're using in X-ray on his ribs and legs right now."

"Thor, what exactly happened?" Natasha said. She knew the question was lingering in everyone's mind, but no one was sure how to tactfully word it to the distraught god of thunder.

"It is a lengthy tale," said Thor, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I wish not to speak of it just yet. May I…may I at least sit with him?"

Bruce pursed his lips before nodding. "Go ahead, Thor."

Thor bowed his head in thanks and quietly retreated into Loki's room. Once the door closed behind him, Tony let out a sound between a groan and a sigh.

"Remind me again why Fury _wanted _us to take in the god of Crazy?" said Tony. "Seems to me he got more violent after we took him in than when he was off running amok in some snow forest."

"Last time Loki was out in the open, a little more than a couple buildings got destroyed," said Natasha.

"Last time Loki was under SHIELD's captivity, the other guy ran loose and the hellicarrier nearly fell from the sky," said Tony.

"Lesser of two evils, maybe?" said Bruce mildly, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt. "Honestly, what I kind of want to know is how he got all those injuries. When the other guy was finished with him that one time, Loki was still walking normally like it was just rugby practice a day or so afterward."

"Whoever did it was probably Loki's enemy," said Tony with a shrug. "Ergo our best friend."

"Thor said something about the Chitauri," said Natasha.

"Those alien Transformer things that tried destroying New York City? They were the ones working with Loki in the first place," said Tony.

Natasha gave a shrug. The less they needed to know about Loki, the better. In fact, Natasha was entirely willing to buy dinner for whoever was responsible for his tussle.

"You know what surprises me?" said Tony. "That Mr. I-Love-the-Sound-of-My-Own-Voice hasn't made a peep for all I know."

"Really? And here I thought you were quite chatty tonight," said Natasha. Tony rolled his eyes at her.

"Okay, fine, touché. But I'm serious," said Tony. "He doesn't do so much as _sniffle_."

"I noticed that too," said Bruce, rubbing his chin tiredly. "Even when he was trying to get away and fight off everyone, he didn't even gasp, or grunt, or say a single word."

"Sore throat?" Natasha said with a snort.

"He doesn't even make a sound when he's breathing," said Bruce. "When we sedated him, I was starting to panic because I thought we killed him. I think we literally might have put a gallon of sedatives in him."

"So he happens to be pulling the silent treatment on us," said Natasha. "If you ask me, he does a lot less damage when he's silent than when he's talking."

"It is not that he will not speak." Thor had reemerged from the room, looking no more comforted than when he ran to his brother's side. "He cannot speak."

Tony raised his eyebrows skeptically. "What did you guys do as a punishment? Cut out his tongue? Pull some Little Mermaid contract on him?"

"Even I do not know what has happened to him in the Void," said Thor, quietly shutting the door behind him. "But it has shocked him into silence."

"The Void?" said Bruce. "I thought you all were in Asgard."

"We were, originally," said Thor with a very grim smile. "But there were…complications."

Tony cocked his head to one side for a moment before walking a little ways off to a small kiosk in the open hallway of the medic centre. While the others watched him bemusedly, he brewed a strong cup of black coffee and returned to them, handing it to Thor.

"Well, we've got time for you to spill," said Tony. "I love story time."


	2. Chapter 2

**I forgot to mention that this story is taking place in COMPLETE movie-verse. That means no Sigyn, no Baldur, no Loki's children, none of those. Because I like simplicity and I cannot keep track of Norse mythology or fifty years of Marvel comics. Also, this is my first time attempting to write with an unreliable narrator, namely Loki. Hope it isn't too bad! **

**Stay tuned for the next chapter to see what Loki _actually _experienced...**

* * *

He awoke in ice.

Cold. Frozen cloth underneath him. Frozen blankets upon his chest. Ice threads weaving through his hair.

He was asleep and awake. Dreaming but restless. He didn't remember which was reality and which were nightmares.

He saw—

Spinning endless in the void, until the cold froze the blood in their tracks and he choked to death—

Rainstorms of his own blood

A snake drunk with poison

wrapping itself around his neck

cold fingers drawing circles on stone

Asgard consumed by flames

Snow. So much snow.

_You're just like me._

Vomit in his throat. Vomit staining the floor, his hands, his skin, seeping—

Bloodied snow.

Falling through the branches, falling in space, silent, endless

a beast with its mouth sewn shut

_—No, Loki—_

Humming, a song of pain, an endless dance to death

Echoes are trying to speak to him.

Someone strong, someone familiar, taking nine steps.

Free-falling, spinning, long dead and unsalvageable since the drop—

_You're just like me._

His heart is ripping itself out of his chest

Breathe.

It hurts, doesn't it?

_Breathe, you don't deserve death, for it is too sweet._

Crying—what does that mean?

What does that mean?

Red snow.

Sad blue eyes.

(_Who are you?_)

White light, it is almost blinding.

Someone speaks.

Saying words, what more, what now, what do they want, what else can they say—

(_i am—)_

Pain. There was something about pain. He remembers.

Is this death? Then death is life's greatest lie.

(_Loki?_)

The name sets his mouth on fire.

_(Don't speak don't speak shut up why can't you learn to shut up no more there's nothing but rot they'll nail it if you try don't want to don'twanttoplease oh please don't dothispleasedon'tmakeme)_

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

(_Why?_)

He doesn't know.

* * *

They were all seated in one of the conference rooms, a screen above the table that showed the security recordings of Loki's room. He looked stable, meaning he looked like he didn't have a single ounce of energy to throw something at someone, but Thor did not seem any bit relieved at Loki's improvement, however little it was. He kept his gaze fixed on it at his place at the head of the table, almost unaware of the others sitting around him, his thick fingers tapping the side of his paper cup of coffee nervously.

Natasha couldn't deny the feeling of wariness. Thor was never a fidgety person, much less a worrisome one, and she could only imagine what state of mind his nervousness left him in if he had become so. All because of Loki, of all people. Loki, she thought dryly, didn't deserve such a brother.

"Sorry I'm late." Steve Rogers hurried through the doorway, his hair tousled and his jacket thrown haphazardly on his shoulders. No doubt he had jumped out of bed despite the hour when he heard of the situation. He took a seat next to Tony, who made a point to spin the swivel chair askew before Steve could sit on it. "Thor—it's great to see you again."

"Likewise, son of Rogers," said Thor, although his voice hadn't a single hint of pleasure. "Will Barton not join us?"

"Not sure if he'd be too keen on knowing about Loki," said Tony, raising an eyebrow to Natasha. Natasha shook her head.

"He's already been alerted," said Natasha.

"Are you kidding me?" said Tony. He leaned back in his seat and groaned. "Great. Now we're going to have loads of fun babysitting Reindeer Games."

"It wasn't going to stay a secret to him," said Natasha. "And if any of you were thinking to keep him in the dark, I'll personally blind you."

"No one's trying to hide anything from Barton," said Bruce. "It's just that one in the morning was probably not the best time to tell him this."

"It could be happy hour and I'd be pissed." Clint had entered the room right after Bruce finished speaking. There were shadows under his eyes after long nights of duty, but he didn't look the least bit tired. He took a seat next to Natasha, his fists upon the table and his glare fixed on the screen. "So. Anyone care to explain why he's back?"

"He was not going to linger here a long while," said Thor. "Nor was I. I solely sought for a place where he would be safe." Thor's gaze flickered toward Natasha for a moment. She pretended she did not notice, much less care.

"Safe?" said Clint. "It's Earth that needs to be kept safe from him. Of all the places in the universe, Thor, why here? Why'd you have to bring him here?"

Natasha stole a sidelong glance at Clint. She had to admit, she was mildly impressed at how even his voice was even though she knew how many times he jolted awake from nightmares of killing his friends under Loki's rule, or how many weeks he spent visiting the families and graves of the agents whom he led to their deaths. But the cold and searing fury was still behind his eyes, unbridled and waiting for the kill.

"I did not mean to bring him here," said Thor. "But I had passed it along the way and could go no further."

"Passed it along the way? What were you doing, taking the Loki for a walk?" said Tony.

"I was not," said Thor. "I was trying to take Loki back to Asgard."

"Yeah, well, you missed," said Clint.

"Come on, let him speak, guys," said Steve.

Thor gave a small nod of thanks to Steve before continuing. "When we returned to Asgard—Loki and I—after the battle several Midgardian years ago, he was put on trial and punished, just as I had promised you. He was imprisoned, his magic withheld, and allowed no visitors except my father and mother. Not even I could see him." He pressed his lips together before continuing. "Therefore when he was—taken, I had no idea."

"Taken?" said Bruce, removing his glasses. "By whom?"

Thor's fist tightened. "By the Chitauri."

"There we go with the Chitauri again," said Tony. "Seriously, I thought they and Loki were on the same side."

"That was what I had believed as well," said Thor. He swallowed hard, staring down at the cooling coffee in his hands. "When I was told that it was the Chitauri that had taken him from the cell—it was I that told Father that Loki had defected. That the Chitauri helped him escape, that Loki had planned this all along, that—" His voice caught in the middle of his throat and he shook his head. "I make cruel judgment against my brother without ever truly knowing him. Why must I continue to do this?"

"It wasn't your fault, Thor," said Natasha, her voice firm. "Anyone would have believed the same thing. This is Loki we're talking about."

"They took him," said Thor. He couldn't bring himself to look at the screen anymore. "They took him and it was because of my words and my judgment that Asgard never tried to look for him, bring him back, help him. We left him for centuries, to think him a cowardly traitor, when in actuality—" Thor couldn't bring himself to say more and he lowered his head, nearly crushing the cup of coffee in his hands.

"Wait—sorry," said Steve. "Um—Thor, did you say _centuries_?"

"Okay, good, I'm not the only one losing their hearing as well," said Tony. "Can you count, Thor? It's been like, three years."

"Do not assume me a fool," said Thor with a growl. "I have seen more than you know about this universe. And most of all, I understand more of time than you could ever live in your mortal life. Do not think I am raving."

"Okay…okay, sorry," said Tony, crossing his arms. "Then what do you mean? And what did the Chitauri do with Loki? Seriously, what the hell is going on?"

Thor lifted his eyes to Tony. "Why do you want to know?" he said. "To relish in Loki's pain?"

"Gosh, Thor, we aren't sadists," said Steve. "But it's Earth that's caught in the middle of this, I think we ought to at least know what's going on."

Thor nodded slowly. "It wasn't until three Midgardian years later did I see my brother again. See what the Chitauri had done to him."

"How?" said Bruce.

Thor raised his head, his eyes cold like steel.

"They offered to return him."

* * *

_Every royal guard was on duty, whether in the streets to protect the common folk or armed from head to toe with vicious gold in the palace. There was no warning, no war drums as a prelude, no premonition to ready their forces. IT came in the form of black smoke, of the stench of Death's perfume. IT came in all the glory of a pyrrhic victory, a funeral, a plague._

_Thor himself was armed before the throne, his father behind him and armed with Gungnir and his mother on the other side. Let them come, Thor had said earlier, preparing Mj__ölner in his grasp. Let them come and taste the fury that is Asgard. _

_Fury, indeed._

_IT did not rain devastation on Thor's people as he had feared, but instead rushed into the halls like a gust of windstorms that wouldn't restrain itself from destroying everything in its path. The guards immediately braced themselves, their weapons aloft, as the black air cleared and the smell of rotting flesh nearly choked all who breathed. Thor's eyes stung as he tried to see through the poisonous smoke, only identifying a monstrous, towering figure at the gilded doors. _

_The guards readied their weapons, undaunted and unshaking like true warriors would. Thor tried to wave the blackened air from his face, but it curled past his fingers and evaded him. Breathing felt coarse against his throat, even as the smoke began to fade._

_"Whoso demands violence and filth for the presence of Asgard?" said Odin, his voice echoing through the muddled halls. "How dare you threaten our peace with your airs?"_

_The air thinned in their eyes and what was revealed made Asgard's warriors in all their strength and bold glory look tainted and false. The creature—the mad titan—looked as if he could reach the high domed ceiling with just a raise of the hand. Power and ferocity defined every angle and line on the formidable body. Just looking upon him struck an unnerving and unfamiliar sense of fear and anger in Thor's heart; Mj__ölner nearly slipped from his grasp._

_"Thanos," Odin whispered. _

_"All-Father." Thanos's voice was like the sound of pure venom. "I come to bring a fine and charitable proposal."_

_He swept his hands before him as if to present himself to Odin in his deathly glory. Chitauri soldiers lined behind him like shrouds of shadows, blending in and out of the darkness outside. The Asgardian warriors glanced uncertainly at Odin, waiting for an order. Odin was still, his eye fixed stubbornly on Thanos, daring him to make a move._

_"I refuse to have dealings with the bloodthirsty and insane," said Odin._

_"Will you truly refuse a humble tradesman?" said Thanos._

_Thor held his breath, preparing Mj__ölner. He only heard stories of the mad titan, how he drowned in nihilism and fascination of darkness, and the sea of death he left at his wake. The thought of him poisoned Thor's mind. _

_"There is nothing you can offer that I would desire," said Odin. "Leave my realm be, and take your evildoings elsewhere."_

_"Ah, but I may correct you on that," said Thanos, stepping forward. The tension stiffened in the room as Thanos approached Odin's throne. Thor fought the urge to slam his hammer into the titan's face right then and there. War with Death's lover was nothing Asgard can afford. "And I believe I have leverage you may consider."_

_Odin narrowed his eye. "If you wish to speak to me, speak quickly. I will not bear your tarrying." _

_"A wise and practical request, All-Father," said Thanos. "I'm sure you are already very aware of what I so yearn for. In your vaults, hidden from the rest of the realm, you hoard treasures. You hoard the Infinity Gauntlet."_

_"You wish to barter that treasure from me?" said Odin. Immediately the guards poised their weapons, ready to attack. "How foolish you are! No force will have me bequeath you the Infinity Gauntlet, not when the fate of all realms hinge upon that decision."_

_"Nothing, you say?" said Thanos. _

_"None."_

_Thanos grinned, his teeth gleaming like daggers. "Perhaps if I barter this, you may stop to think."_

_He gave a nod to the Chitauri behind him before taking a step to the side. Two Chitauri warriors stepped forth, dragging a figure behind them. They threw the body at the foot of the stairs leading to Odin's throne; it was unmoving and slathered with its own blood, limbs too thin and bent in angles too unnatural, white skin stretched too tightly across bone. At the sight of it Frigga let out a cry that sounded like a wounded animal. Thor needed a second glance before he realized with an agonizing jolt what he looked upon._

_"_LOKI_!"_

_He ran forward, ready to pull Loki's unresponsive body into his arms, before the Chitauri immediately stepped forth and swiped at him with their jagged blade. Thor jumped back, raising Mj__ölner to retaliate before a blast from the Chitauri gun sent him flying back. He slammed against the wall, stars flying across his gaze._

_"What is the meaning of this?" said Odin._

_"You knew we took him, did you not?" said Thanos._

_Loki blearily opened his green eyes. Thor's heart skipped a beat and he pulled himself onto his feet. He made to rush forward, but Odin brought out Gungnir and held Thor back immediately. Thor spun around to face Odin, an angry accusation ready at the tip of his tongue, but the look of graveness on Odin's face silenced him. _

_"As a prisoner?" said Odin._

_Thanos laughed—the sound of it was terrifying. "Were you deceived? Did you truly think he came willingly? That after he failed to do as we wished—failed to bring us the Tesseract— we would welcome him as a friend? He made a promise to us that he could not keep—surely we would make him pay the price."_

_Every word that Thanos said was a dagger in Thor, slicing him until he was raw and shocked. All blood rushed from Thor's face as he couldn't take his eyes off of his bloodied, beaten brother. No…was this the truth? Had Loki never really escaped from Asgard, but kidnapped to a worse fate? Had Loki been doing the Chitauri's bidding on Midgard the whole time? The realization of their folly—_Thor's _folly—made his mind shatter and he wanted nothing more than to break each Chitauri into pieces and protect Loki from the world, or whatever dangers left that he had not yet faced._

_"You stole our prisoner—you stole my prince and tortured him, and you think I will do your bidding?" said Odin._

_"What do you say, All-Father?" said Thanos. "You hand to me the Infinity Gauntlet, and your prisoner can finally come home. You withhold it from me, and your prince may not live to see another day."_

_"Father," Thor said in a strangled voice._

_ Frigga stood strong and silent, but her hand shook and her eyes were so wide at the sight of her youngest son that she looked as if she were about to be sick. Loki turned his head slightly until he could just barely see his family. His lips moved—he was mouthing something to them—but his voice was gone. His lips were dark with his blood, as if death itself kissed him. It made his skin look all the paler. _

_It was his fault, it was all his fault, his brother had suffered, had been tortured, had never been found for all this time because of him, because he was so mistrusting, because he left his brother to die to rot to agonize—_

_"You demand the Infinity Gauntlet in exchange for my son?" said Odin. "The control of all existence for my boy?"_

_"Father!" Thor cried out. Loki let his head fall back to the ground, his breathing growing shallower. _

_"I thought you would appreciate my attempts to formal trade," said Thanos in a sickly polite voice._

_"You are a monster," said Odin._

_"Odin," Frigga said, her voice as thin as yarn. "Odin—my child. Our son."_

_"A monster prepared to wreak death on all of the realms for your own fantasies," said Odin. "You will bring the pain and destruction of countless innocent lives of all races and creatures."_

_"Father, please," Thor whispered._

_"I cannot give you the Infinity Gauntlet. I shall not," said Odin._

_"No!" said Thor, and his heart shattered._

_Frigga's face turned deathly pale at Odin's words, petrified as if bewitched into stone. Odin's voice echoed in Thor's head, not entirely accepting the truth that his father had rejected Loki, had denied the chance to save his child. All of a sudden the Infinity Gauntlet had no meaning to Thor anymore, neither its power nor notoriety. All he knew was that his brother was on the brink of death and they had just shoved him off into his doom._

_Loki understood, and he closed his eyes. Thor wanted to scream._

_Thanos gave a last bark of laughter. "So be it."_

_The Chitauri reached down and each grabbed a hold of Loki's arms, dragging him back._

_"You mustn't!" Thor rushed forward, his weapon held high. Thanos struck him, and with only his fist he sent the God of Thunder, the golden prince and warrior of Asgard, flying back and crashing into the pillars. Before Thor could pull himself back onto his feet, Thanos took a hold of Loki as if he was an animal—no, a dead and dull creature—and pulled him away, vanishing into the smoke of his magic and seeping out of Asgard, leaving behind the grim air of his presence lingering in the corners._

_"How could you?" Thor said, spinning toward Odin. Odin looked as if all life had sapped from him and all that was left was a swollen shadow. "How could you leave Loki in the hands of that murderer?"_

_"You must understand, Thor," said Odin, his voice brittle._

_"You threw him away!" Thor said. "You tossed him aside to suffer longer, all for the sake of a golden gauntlet. You left him to his suffering, and I—I was the one that locked him there."_

_Thor took in a shuddering breath, the realization raining on him like falling iron. He had misjudged—he had assumed Loki was cruel, was petty and desperate, and instead he had signed Loki to endless torture. He felt weak in the knees but forced himself to stand strong. He needed to be strong, for Loki, for Frigga—he needed to right his wrongs._

_"I cannot give him the gauntlet," said Odin. He shook—the All-father, the powerful warrior of a king that Thor had respected and feared, was quaking. "I love Loki—I always have, always will—but I cannot give Thanos the gauntlet. Not when Asgard is unable to wage war. Not when he would use it to destroy every living being in it for his own desire. How can I throw away everyone's lives?"_

_"But you are willing to throw away Loki's," said Thor. He heaved for breath, trying to keep himself from seeing red. "You threw away your son—you threw away my brother."_

_"Thor, stop this," said Odin, turning away. _

_"Mother." Thor turned sharply to Frigga. "Mother, you cannot possibly—you do not—"_

_Frigga was shivering, pressing her thin hand against her quivering lips. She could not bring herself to look at either her eldest son or husband, her eyes still filled with the image of her bleeding, broken youngest. _

_"He will take the Infinity Gauntlet with or without your consent," said Thor. "Do you think your refusal to trade will stop him? He will tear Asgard apart and take it for himself, but now Loki is doomed to die. Thanos may not even have the Gems, he may not even be able to use it—yet you think it matters not."_

_"Asgard will have the chance to fight for the freedom of these realms," said Odin. "Do you not think my heart breaks at the sight of Loki? That I would rather have him in my arms now?"_

_"Save him," said Thor, his voice nearly tearing his throat. "Or let me save him. I cannot leave him."_

_"You mustn't, Thor," said Odin, turning away from Thor. "You will lead all realms to ruin."_

_"Please, Father," Thor said, the tears burning the rims of his eyes. "Loki—please—I cannot let him suffer any longer. Please."_

_There was silence. Frigga placed small hands on Odin's shoulders, her eyes raw with pain and a hint of betrayal. Odin raised his gaze to Frigga before giving a shuddering sigh._

_"Oh, __Loki," he whispered before his shoulders quaked and his breath hitched and tears fell from his eye._

* * *

_Heimdall did not betray a glance when Thor approached him at the tentatively repaired Bifr__öst. Thor came before Heimdall, the hood of his cloak drawn over his head and his weapons hidden in its folds. It was nighttime and silent, save the flowing of the river of stars around them and the weak hum of the bridge's magic at their feet. _

_"You knew I would come, Heimdall," said Thor._

_Heimdall's face was etched in stone. "I did."_

_"Then you know what it is I ask of you."_

_Heimdall closed his eyes. "Loki has been and still is shrouded from my gaze," he said. "I cannot see nor hear him, cannot sense his magic anywhere. It is as if he never existed."_

_"But he does exist. Somewhere between the branches," said Thor. "They could not have—they mustn't have killed him."_

_"Perhaps not," said Heimdall, his voice soft. "Magic cannot hide the dead." He turned in his spot to face the swirling heavens, his gold eyes sharpened like weapons._

_"It is Thanos' power that I see pulsing between Niflheim and Midgard," said Heimdall. "It sucks in all that passes like a fallen star. Should he keep Loki, Loki would be there."_

_A chill ran down Thor's spine. "A barren moon, perhaps? Or a cold star?"_

_"Or all of the above," said Heimdall. "Thanos' power is great. One lonely moon would not be fit to hold him."_

_"Then there are more places for me to land," said Thor. "Take me there."_

_"You ask a miracle from me," said Heimdall. "The Bifr__öst is barely resurrected and you demand I take you where none survive."_

_"Send me to Niflheim through the Bifr__öst and I will break from its path in between," said Thor. _

_"You will be lost in space. The bridge will not reach you should you find Loki safely."_

_"I must _try, _Heimdall," said Thor. "I will never forgive myself if I did not try to help him."_

_"And what of your kingdom? If Thanos takes this as an invitation to take the Infinity Gauntlet as his own?"_

_"We are jesting with ourselves if we think refusing Loki will keep Thanos from fighting for it," said Thor. "But this time, Loki shall not be a victim of filthy diplomacy." _

_Heimdall turned his head to face Thor. "He was already lost the first time he fell from Asgard," he said. "Now, he may be unsalvageable."_

_"There is always a chance, a shred of hope," said Thor. "I know my brother is not dead. The brother who loves his family and Asgard, who played tricks with his magic to make us smile, who once sat at your feet marveling at your stories of the universe still lives."_

_Heimdall closed his eyes, letting the memories seize him. Time and truth could not erase what memory had etched in stone. _

_"If you go, I cannot promise you I can bring you back with the bridge," said Heimdall. "You may be lost in between realms for eternity. Time does not pass smoothly in every place of the universe, especially if the Time Gem is in the wrong hands." _

_"If it does not kill me, it will not be a struggle," said Thor. "Loki knows how to slip through the rips of space to move between realms. Once he is safe with me, he will know how to come back."_

_"And will he let you come with him to safety?" said Heimdall._

_"Yes," said Thor. There was no hesitation. Many said trust was a weak spot, an open-fleshed belly, but Thor ignored all warnings. _

_Heimdall gave Thor a significant look before turning toward the golden globe. Thor followed him inside, his heart beating wildly. He had never been lost between realms, and certainly never near Niflheim. But the memory of his brother broken and fallen erased all doubts and nervousness as he stood before the opening portal._

_"I will not be able to bring you back to Asgard once you break from the Bifr__öst's path," said Heimdall over the roar of the churning universe. "Unless you are able to bring yourself to one of the realms, you will be lost."_

_"Have a little more faith in me, Heimdall," said Thor. "Nothing can deter me now."_

_Heimdall twisted the dagger in its stand. Ribbons of rainbow light shot from the portal and ensnared Thor, pulling his body into the hungry belly of the universe. Thor felt himself be lifted off his feet and hurtled past stars and galaxies. He counted down silently in his head, his heartbeat picking up its speed at every passing second as Niflheim rose as a speck before him. Anywhere—Loki could be anywhere—Thor may easily have passed him already—how could he be sure—?_

_Even if the chance presented itself, Thor would not have turned back. With a swing of Mj__ölner, he spun out of the flow of the Bifr__öst and broke through the rainbow current, spinning through lost and dead space—_

* * *

"I do not know how long in Midgardian time I was lost," said Thor. "By the time I finally found Loki, I thought surely I was too late."

"Midgardian time?" said Steve, leaning forward. He looked as if Thor's story had made him wearier, the lines of grim tiredness etched on his face. "What do you mean by that?"

"Thanos has the power to manipulate time," said Thor. "He could cause time to repeat itself…to stretch out as long as possible beyond reckoning…to catch his victims in an endless loop. I know now how he has done it, but for however long I was between the branches felt like a decade. It is like how when you slumber, a dream that feels like it lasts an entire day only took ten minutes of your time."

"Ten years?" repeated Tony. He looked as if he would become ill. "So—let me get this straight. This—Thanos person, he can make time go as fast or as slow as he want because of God knows why, and you spent ten years floating around trying to find Loki?"

"There were many instances where I saw glimpses of him," said Thor, running a hand through his hair tiredly. "But I could not reach him. He would disappear almost immediately after. The Chitauri can shield themselves from all senses if they wish."

"Let me generalize," said Tony. "You say Thanos dropped by your place for a visit three years after the whole New York City thing. So—sometime this year, in like, the time span of a month or even a week, you went through ten years in space?"

"That is as easily as I can explain it," said Thor.

"Holy shit," Tony said, leaning his head back over the top of his chair. "Holy shit, ten years. So if each week equaled ten years, Loki could have been there for like…a thousand and fifty-some years, going through whatever it is that Thanos did to him."

Thor winced at the possibility. "If Thanos was willing to keep time steady for all that time."

Natasha could see Tony shift uncomfortably in his seat. No doubt he remembered his days in Afghanistan, and how each passing moment made him suffer. So that was perhaps why Thor thought Loki had done his time. Though, Natasha thought in spite of herself, if it was truly as horrendous as he said then Loki wouldn't even be alive right now.

"I'm surprised they kept him alive, honestly," said Bruce. "If Thanos was willing to trade Loki in the first place, he wouldn't have thought him worth keeping if his plan to trade didn't work."

"I'm almost certain Thanos did not believe Odin would so easily hand over the gauntlet in the first place," Thor said, his voice grating. "He is a sadist in the highest caliber. He would have thought it another way to torture Loki—make him believe Father thought him worthless." He lowered his head. "That I thought him worthless."

"He did a pretty damn good job," said Tony.

"What else did they do to him?" said Clint.

"This isn't your sadistic side speaking for you, is it?" said Tony.

"Goddammit, can't I just say something without people automatically thinking it's because I want to take a punch out of the guy?" said Clint, clenching his fists.

"No, because you do," said Tony.

"So why did you bring him to Midgard?" Bruce said before Clint could retort. "Why aren't you—well, back in Asgard?"

"It took me a great amount of time to bring him away from the Chitauri," said Thor. "He was very heavily guarded at all times. I had to kill a Chitauri warrior from the outskirts of his guard and pose in its skin to gain access to him."

"I'm sorry—_what?_" Tony said, gagging. "You killed a thing and then you _crawled into it and moved around in its body_?"

"What better option did I have?" said Thor. "I cannot slaughter them all without bringing Loki and myself to Thanos' feet. I had to be discreet."

"Yeah, you definitely are the product of mythology," Tony said, rubbing his face. "Ugh. Take a bath after this, won't you?"

"I tried to coax him into forming a double of himself to make a distraction," said Thor. "But he could not recognize or understand me. He was more than broken, he was—lost. He couldn't speak and he was too weak to teleport. I hadn't time to waste, so I took him and—I jumped. I plunged through space until I found a rip in the universe and disappeared into it—and ended up here in Midgard." Thor swallowed hard. "Loki cannot yet be taken away by the Bifröst. He's too weak. The travel will kill him."

"So we're here to baby him until he's better?" said Clint. "So you can bring him back home and be one happy family again?"

"Clint," said Natasha.

"Dammit, it's just not fair, all right?" said Clint. "I don't care what it is that he went through, it isn't fair if after all this he can go back to his perfect life with his perfect home and perfect family while people here in New York City still have an empty chair at the dinner table."

"Agent Barton, what would you have me do?" said Thor, his voice torn. "Would you have preferred I left my little brother to suffer eons of Odin knows what?"

"I would have it that I never had to hear about him ever again," said Clint. "I thought everyone else was on that boat, but apparently not. If he comes close to hurting anyone here on Earth again, I'll take matters into my own hands."

"You will not come near him," Thor said, rising from his seat.

"Guys, please, let's not do this," Bruce said.

"Clint, sit down," Natasha said when Clint pushed away his chair. She felt a pang inside of her when Clint spoke, remembering the sleepless nights when she spoke with him through the phone half a world away when he needed to break down, remembering the whispered pleas that she tell him if he killed anyone, and the burning rage against Loki intensified. But she couldn't let her emotions tell her how to do her job. Aloof. Unaffected. That was the Black Widow. "Clint, you know this isn't what you want. You're no killer. Not like this."

"Not like him," said Clint. He kept his hardened gaze on Thor before finally relenting, sinking back into his chair. Thor did not do the same.

"I'm sorry for taking too much advantage of your hospitality," he said, his voice chilled. "On my promise, I will take Loki back to Asgard and he will never return to Midgard again. And if you truly desire it, I shall do the same." With one last sweeping look of betrayal and anger, Thor left, the door slamming like snapping thread behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you guys so much for reading this story! I am so very glad that you take the time to read it. A very warm thank you to those who gave me reviews, especially to those that were anonymous to whom I am unable to send a thank you reply. That sounds grammatically awkward. Anyway, this chapter is much shorter than the previous ones, but it's got quite a bit going on in it. **

**To linde13: I cannot reply to your review because you disabled private messaging! However, the word 'syrgja' is in Old Norse. The meaning, however, has mild spoilers, so I would prefer you didn't search it up just yet ;). **

**Warning: This chapter may or may not be considered more graphic than my usual writing. **

* * *

He was not sleeping, so why was this a nightmare?

His mind was alive, awake, unmerciful, shouting in his ears memories he tried to drown. Drown with even more memories, more voices that tore at him, more truths that made him sick. A nightmare he could not rise from. _Reality. _

His eyes were closed, forcing himself in his own darkness. His own endless Void, universe, that he could manipulate—control—destroy. And yet it was the same, over and over again—the memories and fears they had forced down his throat until he was swollen with screams. He was awake, and he could feel the pain in his broken bones, the torn skin across his chest and back, the twisted and mutilated insides that were torn out and sewn back together crudely like rags. And yet he could not move, could not rest, could not change.

_Long live the king._

He felt bile in his throat, coating his tongue. His head spun. He tried to breathe, but he did not want to.

He could still taste it on the back of his tongue.

_Somewhere between the lacerations and broken bones, between the ripping of his throat and burning of his tongue, between the dismemberment and drowning, between Thanos' visits and the poisonous words, they had let him climb onto his feet. They weren't broken this time, nor torn off or twisted to the opposite direction for laughs, but when he stood all he could feel was pain pulsing in every pore. He felt too alive—too aware of the panicking life rushing through his veins even when he sought for rest. To feel every bit of his body, from his fingertips to his skin, was disgusting._

_They said things, jeered things, shouted—but he could not understand them. Not yet. He didn't want to listen. No more. Their words were like arrows. No more. _

_"Are you a king, Frost Giant?"_

_Do not speak. Do not speak._

_"Do you think yourself worthy of a throne?"_

(I who was and should be king.)

_Laughter. They hummed with humor. A song of agony. He tried not to wince. He knew what their song meant. Pain. Pain. Pain._

_"All kings must be crowned."_

_They forced on him a crown of jagged nails and barbed wires—the venomous teeth of beasts and machine. It pierced his flesh and dyed his black hair with his own blood, rivets of red down his face, blinding his eyes like rain. Venom sunk its teeth into his forehead and nearly blinded him, piercing his mind with its nails and wracking it with horror and agony. The weight bogged him down until he swore it would snap his neck._

(The rightful king of Asgard. Betrayed.)

_"A cloak for our good king!"_

_They stripped him. Stripped him of his clothes until he was left with nothing but rags. Stripped his skin from his bones until his back was shredded, nothing but a bleeding mess that even vultures would turn their nose away in disgust. He could not scream. Not if he wanted them to force him to swallow down his own tongue. _

_They gave him a cloak—the skins of their victims, the beasts they hunted in the galaxies and the corpses of the innocents they slaughtered—and draped it over his quivering shoulders. The stench of rotting flesh filled his nose and he nearly choked. It sank beneath his skin and fermented his blood until he was a living carcass. _

(who controls the would-be king?)

_"A parade to honor our king!" _

_And they sang and laughed and dragged him across the barren rock until his feet left rivers of blood behind him. They stoned him until his blood mingled with that of his makeshift cloak. He thought he could think himself into a dream-like state, until he couldn't tell if he was alive or dead, in reality or fantasy, until he couldn't care, but it was all too real. The pain, the shame, the horror—it was all too real._

_"Long live the king!"_

_"Praise to the Frost Giant runt!" _

_"Where is your kingdom, my lord?"_

_"Where is your throne, your highness?"_

_"Where are your followers, your majesty?"_

_Do not speak. They will tear your throat out and let you drown in your blood. Do not speak._

(could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard)

_They shoved him to his knees so roughly the bones cracked under his weight. They had led him to a crater, a stinking, steaming crater that made his stomach turn. It was brewing with Chitauri feces, fresh and old, the stench enough to make him ill. He tried to close his eyes, his own blood already threatening to blind him. _

_"A feast to celebrate our most gracious king!"_

_"Who are your guests, my lord?"_

_"Who would you invite to dine with you, my king?"_

_"Who would even care enough for you to come, Frost Giant?"_

_None. They needn't ask him. He knew the answer. None._

_(Do not speak. They will pour fire down your throat. Do not speak.)_

_"Enjoy your own feast, Asgardian."_

_They shoved it down his throat. They drowned him in their waste, until he had to swallow down both their excrement and his own vomit. He fought, he tried to raise his head, but they forced his face down until he couldn't breathe. When he flailed, they beat him. When he tried to breathe, they made him sink deeper. _

_"Worthless monster, who makes play he's still a king."_

_"Unloved and unknown, who thinks himself a prince."_

_"What leader is he that none care that he suffers?"_

_Time passed—an hour, perhaps, or even a year, and they finally tossed him aside to sink in his own vomit. _

_He cannot sink. He cannot dream. He cannot breathe. He was rotten, betrayed, destroyed, inside and out. He could only wait for more._

_There was nothing left for him._

"I don't care."

The voice jolted Loki from his memory just before vomit could crawl up his throat. He willed himself to remain limp and unresponsive on the bed (Stone? Hole? Cage?) as if asleep, although his mind was too far from rest. The voice sounded familiar, and yet Loki couldn't picture a face to match the sound.

"I don't care if you're all beaten up like this. That you were gone for maybe a hundred or so years."

Loki thought he saw a bow and arrow flit through his mind. He couldn't understand why.

"You've done too much shit to this world for me to feel the least bit sympathetic to you."

He tasted it again. (do not open your mouth do not speak do not make a sound they will find you)

"Whatever happened to you, whatever it was that they did to you for all this time, I hope they broke you."

The voice shook, as if it was unsure whether to believe what it was saying. For a moment Loki wanted to open his eyes. To see if they were truths or lies. But he was so tired.

"I hope they made you suffer, I hope they made you regret everything. I hope—I hope they made you ashamed. Because you deserve every single bit of it. You do. You _do._"

Like a child at prayer.

"I just wish Thor didn't come get you so quickly. That they would have kept you for longer, because you deserve a lot more than this."

He tried to move his hand. It wouldn't even curl a finger. He wasn't sure what he would do if he could.

A sound of a slam, a click, and then silence. For a moment, he did not understand. He almost had forgotten the sound of a shutting door after so long.

Silence.

_Is that the truth?_

Silence.

_That is the truth._

Silence.

_Truth._

(i never wanted the throne)


	4. Chapter 4

**Wowie, I admit I definitely wasn't expecting the reactions that I got from the last chapter. Looking back, though, I should have realized...Anyway, I just wanted to accredit (because I constantly forget to add author notes in their appropriate chapter) my sister and history itself to certain points of the previous chapter.**

**Also, there's a section that I admit I was heavily influenced by the writing format of _Everything is Illuminated_ by Jonathan Safran Foer. I know that I ought not to heavily emulate the styles of other writers, but it just...worked so well this way, so I accredit Foer as well. With that done, I'll say, onward! This chapter isn't as graphic, worry not.**

* * *

"Loki?"

Thor rapped the door with his knuckles. It wasn't that he was expecting Loki to give Thor any consent to come in, whether he wanted to give it or not, but he didn't want to catch Loki by surprise. He didn't hear anything thrown against the door, so he reckoned it was all right to enter.

He gently pushed the door open, peeping inside the medical room. Loki was still lying on the bed, his left arm encased in a heavy cast and a bandage around his neck. He looked famished, his large eyes too big for his too thin face. Said eyes were glued to Thor, hardened like green glass. Thor gave a soft sigh before stepping into the room. Loki moved to sit up immediately but his strength failed him and he collapsed on his side.

"Please—please rest, brother," said Thor. He set the tray of food aside on a table and sat on a stool next to Loki.

Loki glared at Thor, his jaw set and stiff as he edged away from him.

"Are you in pain?" said Thor.

Loki's bottom jaw twitched with irritation, but he neither confirmed nor denied it.

Thor reached out to brush a loose strand of black hair from Loki's face. With his good hand, Loki immediately hit Thor's hand away, his eyes wide with indignation. Thor sucked in a sharp intake of breath.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Thor. "I would never hurt you, brother."

Loki sneered and looked away, his hand still poised as if ready to strike Thor should Thor try anything else.

"Dr. Banner has told me you haven't been sleeping," said Thor. The shadows under Loki's eyes were a screaming sign of proof, contrasting with Loki's too pale skin.

Loki pressed his lips together but continued forcing his gaze on an invisible point on the ceiling.

"He does not want to give you Midgardian medicine to aid your sleep," said Thor, hoping to catch Loki into small talk, albeit one-sided. "He fears it might disrupt your healing process."

It nearly frightened him that he could barely hear Loki even breathe. Had it not been for the delicate rising of his chest, Thor would have thought Loki a reanimated corpse.

"Will you…will you speak to me, brother?"

A flash passed in Loki's eyes and he turned his head away from Thor. Thor immediately wished he had not said a thing; as collected as Loki played off to be, Thor could see his fists tremble under the sheets and how Loki held his breath as if waiting in fear.

"Nothing here will hurt you, Loki," said Thor, reaching out to put a hand on Loki's shoulder. "You're safe here. I swear I will protect you. You are safe."

His fingers just skimmed Loki's thin shoulder and Loki immediately jerked away. The sudden movement must have torn something in him because he winced and couldn't move away. He gritted his teeth, his breathing becoming labored.

"I'm sorry," Thor said. He withdrew his hand, numbed. "I'm sorry, Loki. For everything."

Loki turned to face Thor with narrowed eyes that said _I don't need you. I never needed you._

Thor bit down on the inside of his cheek. Loki would be dead if Thor hadn't come; did he not realize that? Would he not let himself receive help from his older brother at least once?

(_Not brother, Loki would say. Never a brother.)_

_(Then what is a brother to you?)_

_(A myth. Phantom faces beneath my eyelids.)_

_(There too live my phantoms.)_

_(And what is that?)_

_(Where you are gone. To see you nevermore.)_

When Loki faced the ceiling again, Thor quietly reached to the table toward the tray he had brought in. A bowl of broth was set upon it, simple enough for Loki. Bruce had told Thor that by the looks of it, Loki hadn't any signs that he had eaten anything substantial for an alarming amount of time, and that his body might not accept food easily at first. Thor reckoned Loki hadn't eaten properly since he fell from the Bifröst. The thought made him ache terribly.

"Loki, please try to eat something," he said, offering the bowl. "You will regain your strength this way, and heal more quickly."

Loki glanced at the steaming bowl from the corner of his eyes. However, instead of any sign of hunger or desire, his eyes widened with raw and inexplicable fear. He pushed himself into a painful sitting position, his small back pressed against the headboard of the bed as he stared at the bowl of soup, trembling.

"Loki?" said Thor, withdrawing the soup slightly. "Don't you…will you not eat?"

Like a farmer trying to goad a wild animal, Thor brought the soup a little closer to Loki. Loki immediately pushed himself further, his mouth pressed into a thin line as if to bar anything from entering. His arms were shaking as he pulled himself away from Thor, his breathing quickening with panic.

"Loki, what is the matter?" said Thor. In the back of his mind, he was frantically grasping at straws. What was wrong with Loki? Should he call Banner? _What was going on?_

Before Thor could react, Loki shoved the bowl of soup away. The hot liquid splattered over the bed covers and Thor's pants, sticking to his skin like vomit. Loki lost his balance, having backed away from Thor too much and toppled over the edge of the bed. Thor immediately shot out of his seat and darted toward his fallen brother. Loki was a tangle of limbs on the floor, fresh blood seeping through the bandages and clothes as his many wounds reopened. He tried to push himself onto his knees, but his thin arms shook too much to keep him steady.

"Loki—Loki—" Thor bent down to try to help Loki up, but Loki backed away from Thor, hitting his back against the nightstand and wincing at the impact. His eyes were wet with furious fear, like a dagger of ice darting toward Thor. "Loki, I'm not going to hurt you. Please trust me. You're safe. Nothing is going to harm you."

_Lies, _said Loki's eyes. His blood dripped from underneath his shirt and onto the floor. _Lies._

The door swung open with a bang and Thor spun around immediately. Bruce was at the doorway, his brown eyes taking in the gruesome sight of Loki bleeding on the floor, disheveled and frenetic like a wounded wolf, with Thor crouched and kept at a distance even though all he wanted was to rush to his brother and hold him. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his professionalism calmed his nerves, and that of the Hulk's.

"Doctor," said Thor, his voice quivering ever so slightly. "Doctor, I don't—I tried to give him food, but—"

"It's all right, Thor," Bruce said, carefully making his way to Loki. Loki stiffened when Bruce towered over him, and Bruce promptly bent down to eye level.

"Loki," said Bruce. "Do you remember me?"

A twitch of the jaw, an almost-smirk. Somewhere in Bruce, the Hulk grunted with satisfaction.

"I'm here to help you," said Bruce, holding out his hands. "I treated your wounds earlier, if you remember."

He edged a little closer to Loki. Loki jerked, pressing closer against the nightstand as if hoping to melt into the wood and through the plaster wall to disappear from the headquarters. His hands trembled and Thor had to fight down the ache inside of him at the sight of his breaking brother.

"Your body is really weak," said Bruce. "It needs food. Uh—it needs nutrients to keep it alive and healthy. If you eat, you'll be able to heal better. Faster, too. Then you can get out of this place faster."

Loki sat up a little straighter at Bruce's promise, his eyes boring into Bruce's face as if searching for a lie in that statement. Bruce licked his lips nervously before plunging on.

"We're not here to hurt you. We aren't the Chitauri—" Loki gritted his teeth at the word. "—and we don't do torture here. That's not a Midgardian thing to do. We're doing these things for you not because we want something out of you, but because—well—it's the right thing to do. And you're Thor's brother. We help our friends here."

Loki grimaced at his impromptu title and turned his head away. Bruce gave a look of sheepish apology to Thor, who was torn between hurt and frustration. After all they had been through, why must he now shove Thor away so vehemently?

"So—are you hungry?" Bruce said. "I uh, I think there's still some applesauce on that tray. Is there, Thor?"

"There is, Doctor," Thor said, waiting with baited breath as he couldn't take his eyes off of Loki. He slowly rose to his feet and retrieved the small ceramic bowl of pale applesauce from the tray, cupping it carefully in his hands as if afraid to break it, and brought it back to Bruce.

"It's food. Edible," said Bruce, taking the applesauce from Thor. He offered it to Loki, whose shoulders tensed at the sudden movement. "It's good for you. You eat, you get better, you go back home faster. Don't you want that?"

Loki swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing on his slim neck. Bruce gestured for Loki to take it, but Loki refused to touch it.

"Does he think it is poisoned?" said Thor.

"It isn't poisoned, Loki," said Bruce. "Here…Thor, take a bite."

"What?" said Thor. "This food is for Loki."

"I know," said Bruce. "But if he thinks it'll hurt him and he sees that it doesn't hurt you if you try it, then it ought to prove something to him. I doubt if I did it that it would make a difference to him. He probably knows the other guy's kind of watching out for me, you know?"

Loki raised his eyebrows in a mild gesture at Bruce, as if to say he was impressed of his thinking. Bruce shifted uncomfortably in Loki's gaze and cleared his throat. Thor pursed his lips but relented, taking a small spoonful of applesauce. He made show of chewing and swallowing before putting it into Loki's uninjured hand. Loki's look of humor when Thor was eating immediately sapped away.

"We aren't going to make you do anything for eating," said Bruce. "We just want you to…eat. That's all."

Thor's anger toward the Chitauri suddenly flared at Bruce's word. Had the aliens forced Loki to endure pain and shame just to have a morsel? It took precious self-control for him not to bunch his hands into a fist in indignation.

"Get me some bandages and dressing while he eats, won't you, Thor?" said Bruce. "We need to fix those wounds again…he went off and split them."

"Of course." Thor backed away toward the cabinet of medical supplies as Loki tentatively lifted the spoon of applesauce to his lips. He scoured the shelves for the material to stitch and clean wounds and a roll of bandages. Just as he reached for the bottle of what he believed was rubbing alcohol, there was a clatter that rang out behind him.

"Shoot," said Bruce. "Okay—okay—"

Thor spun around and all the medical supplies he gathered in his arms fell to the ground. He was immediately at Loki's side as Loki doubled over, heaving dryly and clutching his midsection. The barely touched applesauce was splattered all over the floor about him.

"Thor, don't—you might hurt him," Bruce said, climbing onto his feet immediately.

"What is happening to him?" said Thor, putting a hand on Loki's trembling back. Loki felt so cold under his touch.

"Refeeding syndrome gone drastic," Bruce said. "Dammit—I knew I should have tried milk first, or something. Applesauce and soup is too much for him."

"What do you mean?" said Thor.

"His body's been deprived of nutrients for far too long. It's causing him to react badly to food. Dammit—call the other medics, he's bleeding out and he's probably going to vomit and that's not good."

As if on cue, Loki retched on the floor. He clutched himself protectively as if cold, sour vomit spilling from his lips. Thor pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around Loki's cold figure. For a moment he felt a sudden twinge of anger toward Bruce, thinking that Loki's plight was his blame. The guilt for those sentiments followed loyally, but Thor couldn't help but feel shaken.

"Thor, _hurry," _said Bruce. "He needs help fast. Make them bring an IV with them as well."

Thor had no idea what was so special about this ivy Bruce so desperately called for, but he dashed out of the room, bellowing for anyone to come help Loki. A team was immediately assembled with a drip already prepared and they crowded Loki's room, carefully pulling Loki back onto the bed. The moment they came close to him Loki began to panic, thrashing away from their grasps and upsetting his dire wounds even more.

"Someone calm him down!" said Bruce. "Thor, can you do it?"

Thor wished he could, but he knew deep down that Loki would be even more disturbed by him. Nevertheless, he hesitantly stepped forward to take Loki's hand. "Loki, it'll be all right, they're here to help you—"

Loki wrenched his hand away from Thor's. In a brisk moment he slammed it against a nearby medic's nose; it gave an ominous crack and poured blood down her front.

"Restrain him!" a medic said. "Put him in some sort of bind—we can't work with him this way."

"No!" Thor said. "He has been in binds and chains for too long, it will only upset him further."

"Should we sedate him again?" one said.

"If we keep pumping that stuff into him, it'll hurt him in the long run," said Bruce.

Thor tried to put a comforting hand upon Loki once more. Loki's face twisted into a silent snarl and he struck at the nearest person. His fist collided with the side of a medic's head and completely knocked him off his feet.

"Thor, I have to ask you to leave," Bruce said over the confusing flurry.

"I cannot leave him when he is so distressed," Thor said.

"I'm sorry, but—you're making it worse for him," said Bruce. The words pierced Thor, even when they were from the kind doctor. "Don't take it the wrong way but—he won't calm down when you're around."

"I-I understand," Thor said, his voice so brittle and soft that none could hear him. They all nudged Thor away from the bed, busying themselves with trying to calm Loki with needles and medicine while fixing the long clear tube into his arm and sewing his wounds shut. Thor felt the numbing, swelling feeling of uselessness inside his stomach as he backed away, unable to join the team that was doing all they could to help Loki.

_(Loki, let me help you, why won't you let me help you?)_

He watched Loki sink into the pillow, his eyes glassy as the tranquilizer infected his body. The medics crowded around the bed until Loki was out of view, building themselves a wall on top of him until Thor couldn't see him, much less hear or touch him.

_(Loki, just talk to me, speak to me, I want to help but you must talk to me and I don't know what to do)_

But wasn't it Thor's fault that Loki had been agonized?

Wasn't it Thor's fault that Loki couldn't even speak?

He fled the room, shame at his heels.

* * *

_"Does it want to eat?"_

_Stop. Please. Don't come closer._

_"Does it starve like a rat?"  
_

_He could see the bones in his hands quiver. Don't speak. They will think you weak. Your voice is weakness. Don't speak. _

_A coarse hand gripped his sharp elbow. He could see the nails digging into his skin, but he couldn't feel them pierce. Hunger had made him numb. _

_"What is it willing to pay this time?"_

_He closed his eyes. His head spun as if knocked into the galaxy. He imagined his stomach eating his heart. He saw himself ironed flat, drilling holes through his skin to release the air. _

_"A pretty little trick? Fanciful words?" _

_He couldn't stop shaking. He was so tired. _

_"We shan't waste our good food on this mongrel today. Perhaps next year."_

_They cackled and left him alone in the empty crater. The clothes on his skin were like blankets. He couldn't move underneath them. Pain and hunger paralyzed him. He heard once that dying of hunger brought elation to the victim. He waited for it desperately. He had forgotten what that felt like. _

_He didn't know how much time passed before he heard footsteps crack the dust above him. He barely had the strength to open his eyes, wondering if someone had come to end his trial. It was a tall, dark figure of a Chitauri warrior-unrecognizable, he was probably from a different division than the one that kept him. Loki let out a sigh, waiting for the blow, the coarse words, the punishment._

_The warrior crouched beside him. Loki couldn't see its face, nor could he tell if it even had one. It spoke, but not in a language Loki could comprehend. Loki shook his head, showing that he did not understand. He did not wish to understand. The warrior closed its mouth and remained as silent as Loki. _

_It reached behind it and pulled at a rough burlap sack. It dug its hand into the pouch and pulled out a dark purple object Loki couldn't recognize. It had the texture of bread, but Loki had long forgotten the look of typical foodstuff. It held it out to Loki, the smell of the loaf wafting under Loki's nose. It smelled like nothing Loki ever came across before, neither edible nor inedible. The warrior waited for Loki to take it, but Loki was far too weak to move. He could only let his head fall back and try to breathe. _

_Undaunted, the warrior stiffly pulled open Loki's mouth and inserted a pinch of the bread. Loki let it melt on his tongue, not the least bit afraid if it was poisoned or if there was a package deal to accepting the food. He didn't even have the strength to spit it out if he wanted to. He let it slide down his throat and he let out a sigh. The bite was small, but more than anything he had ever taken in for what felt like several decades. The warrior inserted another piece into Loki's mouth, and another, and another, until Loki couldn't take anymore. _

_Loki raised his eyes to the unexpected Samaritan, a whisper of a cross between thanks and a looming question resting upon his lips. The warrior did not give an answer; instead, it rose to its feet, lifted the empty sack from the ground, and walked away. No sound, no explanation, not even a name, if it had one. It blended into the darkness of space, and had it not been for the feeling of food in his stomach Loki would have suspected it all to be a hallucination._

_Maybe it was poisoned, and he would be wracked with pain in several minutes. Loki could only sleep now, and wait._

_When he roused, he heard laughter. He heard shouts that were both angry and full of mirth. He heard the sound of ripping and cracking and a single scream. _

_Something fell beside him in his crater and he turned his head. A decapitated head with its mouth bashed in and its eyes empty stared back at him. _

_Here, Loki saw its face for the first time. _

_The Chitauri threw in the rest of its limbs into the crater, laughing something he didn't understand. Somewhere deep inside, Loki wondered if the warrior had a name. He wondered if now they would force him to eat the flesh. _

_He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Tried to forget._


	5. Chapter 5

**I apologize. I know nothing about Liar's dice. Veterans, please don't laugh at what I wrote. I know it's horrible but I just have no idea how to play it. You'd think I would change the game since I have complete control over this story, but alas, I actually don't know how to play many games in the first place.**

**Also, thanks to Ordis, I can't stop referring to the Chitauri warrior from the previous chapter as 'Gard.' Thanks for that, Ordis. It is now my headcanon.**

**I dunno if you guys know this, but I usually am writing several chapters ahead of what I've updated, and I've got to say, this is already turning out to be probably the story with the most chapters I've ever written, not counting the awful and crappy parody from six years ago. I also noticed that the playlist I listen to while writing has drastically changed over the course of this story, which is rather interesting considering the music choice and the general mood of the future. This ought to be fun...**

**And also, oh wow! Over a hundred follows by chapter 4! I'm so happy and touched that so many people are interested enough in the story to want to continue reading it. Thank you so much for reading! Please enjoy the next chapter~**

* * *

Natasha stood stock still in front of the door with half the mind to tell Fury to forget it, she does what she wants and this was _not _anything remotely close to what she wanted.

It wasn't like she wasn't used to pretending. God knows how many assholes she had to flirt with or bastards she had to put up with in order to get the information she needed or the kill she was assigned. And true, many of said bastards and assholes were no more innocent than the one currently locked up in the room before her, but this was a case beyond her training.

For one thing, she never had to approach his room with a chess box in her hand because it was the closest she was going to get to making a mute open up. But that half of the mind was overwhelmed by her sense of duty. Fury had taken her aside, demanding she wheedle information out of Loki in any way possible.

"There's no way the Chitauri are going to just let their prisoner play hooky and not try to get him back," said Fury. "And I doubt the Chitauri are going to play nice if they find out we're housing him."

"What do you want to do, release him back into the Norwegian wilderness?" said Natasha. "I'm sure Thor would like that a lot. He'd really understand."

"This whole planet still owes Thor a debt," said Fury. "And if this is the way we can pay him back, then fine. But I'm putting my foot down if that means bringing a damn war titan or whatever the hell Thor was talking about to Earth to screw shit up."

Considering Fury's extreme ire, she doubted it was the best time to bring up the fact that the last time she and Loki had a conversation, she double-played him completely and that Loki was probably going to be less than willing to talk to her about anything, especially considering the fact that he was allegedly mute.

He was the God of Lies, perhaps, but even tricksters knew a thing or two about broken trust.

She took in a deep breath, the chess box feeling heavy in her hands. Trust was one thing. Respect may possibly be another. From the stories Bruce told the rest of the team about Loki's reactions to the medics and treatment, she doubted there was an ounce of sanity left in him. She wasn't sure if that made the job any easier for her.

She rested her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. This was for SHIELD, she reminded herself. No—this was for the world. If they had to face another wave of Chitauri soldiers again, who was to say that they would be successful this time?

_"That is my bargain, you mewling quim."_

She swallowed hard. She could only be thankful that he was no longer speaking.

Natasha finally turned the handle and pushed open the door. The room was understandably silent with only the dull beeping of the machinery Loki was hooked onto. Loki himself was prone on the bed; the top half of the bed was raised slightly to an incline so that he didn't lie flat. He looked wasted away, his lean and sturdy muscle famished into skin and bone and his sunken eyes bathed in shadows on his emaciated face. His short black hair fell across his pillow like a torn funeral shroud.

Said eyes latched onto Natasha immediately after she stepped into the room. He frowned slightly for a half a second before recognition froze his gaze. His lips thinned into something that was either a smirk or a grimace.

_"Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red."_

Natasha clenched her teeth, closing the door behind her. Even in his silence and absolutely ravaged state he was formidable. There was green fire in his eyes and determined potential sculpted his bones.

_Of course, _Natasha thought bitterly. _Not all lies have to be spoken._

She edged closer to his bedside before slowly settling herself on the stool. His gaze never left her, his eyes large with skepticism and his long fingers twitching to close into a fist. Had he any strength left, after constantly upsetting his wounds and the many dosages of sedatives, she was certain he would be preparing to pounce.

"Remember me?" she said.

He gave a sharp exhale as if he found humor in her words. He glanced over her shoulder towards the door for a brief moment.

"No one else is coming in. Just me," said Natasha. "What, were you expecting Thor?"

Loki narrowed his eyes and bit the corner of his lip. Natasha let herself smile, basking in the slight victory.

"Thor took Bruce really seriously when Bruce said he being around you would only hurt you even more," said Natasha. "If it weren't for that, he'd have never left your side."

Loki shook his head as if to say, _Idiotic oaf. _

"Or were you thinking that Clint would come?" said Natasha. "You remember Clint? Clint Barton?"

Loki raised his eyebrows.

"The one that you said you'd make kill me intimately, slowly, in every way I fear."

Loki raised his eyes as if to tell her he knew completely well who she meant, thank you very much.

"I have to hand it to him, I'm surprised he didn't try to kill you yet," said Natasha. It was odd how easy it was to tell the truth to Loki, even if it was for a bigger purpose. Natasha was no extrovert; even her truths hid behind a film, filtering only what she deemed safe to tell and scraping all the dark, raw honesty from the screen to hoard for another day. But with Loki, they flowed freely. "What you did to him—what you made him do—was deplorable."

Loki inclined his head slightly on his pillow, scrutinizing her. She shrugged.

"But I'm not here to kill you. I'm not an assassin like that. Of course, you already know that, don't you? Considering Barton had told you _everything_."

She opened the cardboard chess box and pulled out the smooth wooden board. Balancing it neatly on the small nightstand, she carefully positioned each piece in its proper place, a neat little line of soldiers in their careful squares. The kindest war the world would ever see.

"But I thought we'd have a trade, because I know even Clint doesn't know everything for him to tell you."

Loki raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Considering you're going to be here a while as our people treat you—"

That must have set something off in his mood because she definitely noticed a flare of annoyance in his eyes. He lifted his wrist up to her eye level, forcing the sight of his handcuffed wrist into her view, as if to remind her that even in his current state all of SHIELD would be decimated to ashes if his magic wasn't inhibited and if his tongue wasn't silenced. She couldn't help but agree.

"—and the fact you apparently love knowing trivia about SHIELD agents if you were so curious enough to ask Clint," said Natasha, "I'll make _you _a bargain. And since I'm the one talking, I'll be setting the rules."

The look on Loki's face clearly said that once he straightened out this mess, she would probably be magicked into a snowman to melt on a Caribbean beach and die slowly, intimately, or something just as creative.

"Ever played chess?" she said. "It's a game of strategy."

He nodded, his eyes studying her carefully.

"You win, I'll tell you whatever it is you want to know. I win, you'll do something for me."

Loki's jaw twitched and he brushed a loose strand of hair from his eyes. Natasha leaned forward, widening her eyes to pull on a façade of innocence.

"Though, to make things a little more fair, go a little easy, won't you? Never played with the god of mischief or anything, you know."

Loki made a face that surely said, _I am not falling for that._

Natasha smirked. He learned fast, at least.

"White or black?" she said.

Loki waved a hand to her as if to say, _Ladies first._

Natasha reached for the black pawn and pushed it two paces up. She never took his eyes off of him.

Amazing, she thought. Amazing how the very man that threatened her and Clint's death, that led to the destruction of New York City, that sent tremors of fear down her spine, was reduced to this thin, weakened creature stuck playing chess with her.

He wrapped white fingers around an equally white pawn and edged it forward one square. He didn't have the strength to lift his head, so Natasha moved the board into a place where he could reach. He pursed his lips in annoyance.

Really, getting on his bad side was too easy.

"I used to hate chess when I was a little girl," said Natasha. She hesitated at first; no, this story wasn't part of the plan. But there was something about the god of lies that demanded honesty, as if he had been immersed in too many lies and craved the truth. "In the Red Room, they taught us chess at an incredibly young age. To learn tactics and deception. I thought it was dull."

Their pieces danced around each other, but they both knew this was no ballroom. Cinderella who sought to kill, the twelve sisters who fought for their lives.

"I had one friend there, a couple years older than me. Maybe she was seven at the time. She loved chess, could never understand why I hated it so much. I don't remember her name anymore."

It was a lie, and she knew that he realized it immediately. His gaze flickered toward her for a short moment before returning to the board.

"So she told me to look at playing chess as telling a story. Two warring kingdoms with a beautifully magical queen and a wise king, surrounded by their royal and loyal subjects. It's an obvious allegory, considering the pieces, but when people play the game they're always looking for strategy, for the way to win. They never stop and listen to the story."

He counteracted her attempt of a distraction and devoured her precariously placed knight. She hid a scowl and shifted her bishop into safety.

"When she told me that, I got carried away immediately. I started dreaming about this new kingdom I played for. I gave all the pieces names and stories as if they were real people. I remember naming the queen Tatyana. She was a sorceress and the most beautiful woman in the world, with red hair."

His pawn knocked away one of hers, edging its way into kingship. Natasha smiled and used her rook to knock it from its victory. Immediately the rook was destroyed by a hidden dagger, a traitorous pawn.

"I spent hours and hours daydreaming about this little kingdom. I named it _Stranachudes_—sort of means 'wonderland.' I wasn't a creative child yet back then. I felt like I could truly live in it, disappear from the Red Room and be a part of it."

His queen edged closer to her side of the board. She squinted, debating whether to knock out the threat or to pursue his king. In the end, she shifted her knight closer to his king. He watched her, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"It made me like chess a lot in the short run," said Natasha. "My friend and the mistress were happy, at least. I would play and learn all the tricks and practice all the time so my kingdom would keep winning. At the rate I was going, I could have been the champion. Not that there were winners in the Red Room."

His king retreated to safety beyond her reach. She rested her chin on interlocked fingers. She nearly forgot about her story as she scrutinized the game, searching for a weak spot, a plan B. With deliberation she barricaded her king in a wall of protective rooks. One of them was knocked out of the game. Check.

"But the plan sort of backfired," said Natasha. "I got too emotionally attached to my characters. I couldn't bear let any of them get killed, not even a single pawn. Not for the sake of the king. I lost more and more games, and the mistresses kept punishing me for failing so much. Even though I thought I was protecting them. My fantasies—my imaginary friends."

Loki glanced up at her. She shrugged carelessly as she nudged one of her pieces into alleged safety. Without much hesitation, the piece was immediately swept off the board and Loki's queen took the square. Check.

"I finally confided to the mistress why I couldn't play chess properly. That I had grown to love those imaginary pieces, that I couldn't bear to lose them. She punished me—hard. And then she burned my pieces. She found out my friend was the one who encouraged it, and she went without dinner for a week. She stopped talking to me after that."

She leaned back after making her move. Loki hesitated, his slim fingers lingering over his pieces, before nudging a piece forward. Check.

"That's what the Red Room teaches you, really," said Natasha. "You can't make friends with anyone. You can't know too much about anyone, and no one can know too much about you. No emotional ties, no attachments, none of it. If it disrupts your work, if someday you have to turn against them, it will only hinder you. And they can't afford that. Expenditure is easier than sacrifice."

She moved her unthreatening bishop alongside his king. He lifted his hand, about to make a move, before pausing. He blinked, his eyebrows slowly furrowing into a frown.

"Checkmate," she said.

He lifted his eyes to her, the expression on his face amusedly unreadable. She scooped the fallen pieces off from the side of his bed and placed them on the table, humorously dwelling in his shock of her success. He went for her distraction, hook, line, and sinker. Sometimes she had forgotten how her deception could be used for amusement instead of a kill.

But when she looked back up to Loki, she hesitated. Loki had, with much effort, pushed himself up into a proper sitting position. He rolled the loose sleeves up his arms and brandished his pale wrists as if waiting for her to rap his skin with a sharp ruler. Frowning, she looked up into his eyes only to see them silent and defeated, as if resigning to his fate and not just his failure.

"What are you doing?" she said.

There was no sarcasm, no lift of an eyebrow, no condescending smirk. His face was purely blank, almost protectively so, and he lifted his arms a little higher. She let herself glance down at them. They were heavily bandaged, and where skin was visible there were thick and ugly scars running down his arm. She felt her stomach sour at the realization.

"I was going to ask you questions like you would have asked me should you have won," said Natasha. "That's all."

Loki's lips parted, almost in confusion, before setting his wrists down to the blanket. He eased his way back onto the bed, suppressing a wince as pain shot through him. Natasha couldn't help but feel a flurry of indignation; did he truly expect her and SHIELD to be so barbarous towards him?

"On second thought," she said, "I'll save it for another day. You just remember your end of the deal, or I expose to everyone that a weak, mewling quim beat you in chess."

She pooled everything back into the box, the pieces clattering loudly to fill the silence. She was just about to rise from her seat and leave when she felt a hand brush her shoulder. She stiffened and spun around; Loki withdrew his hand immediately.

"What is it?" she said.

Loki parted his lips as if he was about to speak, and for a moment Natasha felt a rush of excitement and accomplishment, that she would be the one to get the stubborn bastard to talk. But only choked breath came from his throat and he closed his mouth in defeat. Instead, he shook his head, keeping his eyes transfixed on her.

"What, you don't want me to expose the mewling quim thing?" she said.

He waved a hand to dismiss her words. He pointed to her.

"Mewling quim?" she said, taking a stab in the dark.

He bowed his head, eyes still fixed on her.

Natasha's eyebrows shot higher and higher up her forehead.

Was he _apologizing_ for name-calling?

She sure as hell wasn't going to ask.

"Well," she said. She rose from her seat, box returned in her hand. He watched her go to the door, his eyebrows knit with slight confusion. She turned back to face him and found herself almost smiling.

"Thank you for your cooperation," she said.

* * *

_"Let's play a game, Asgardian."_

_Loki closed his eyes, trying to weed out their voices from his head. He couldn't stop his limbs from shaking, both from the cold and the intense strain of the agony they had just endured. He groggily pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet, even though every inch of him screamed in protest at his attempt to still appear strong. _

_"Don't you want to play?" said the Chitauri._

_He bit down on the tip of his tongue. He would not fall for it this time. No—he shan't speak this time._

_"We'll make a deal with you, how about?"_

_A deal. He felt the corner of his lip twitch upward. He never had the best of luck with deals. When he made a deal he ended up with a sewn mouth. Hell, the last deal he made was the reason why he was with the Chitauri in the first place._

_"You win our game of yours, we let you free for a week. No pursuit, no punishment, no more of our…playtime." _

_He dug his nails into his palm, waiting._

_"You lose," it said, and it leered with pleasure, "and you must do something for us."_

_He felt the blood drain from his face and he nearly swayed had he not planted his feet firmly on the ground. Agreements with the Chitauri were dangerous—foolish, even—but the promise of a week—a _week!—_of freedom, of painless, fearless freedom, was so sweet and so unimaginable that he craved it. Needed it. He nodded and the Chitauri yelped with amusement._

_"It agrees! The Frost Giant whelp agrees." _

_They dragged him to a makeshift table of stone and shove him at the head of the table. One other warrior sat across him, two cups in its hands. He handed one to Loki._

_"It's a Midgardian game of sorts," said the Chitauri. "Liar's Dice."_

_Loki rattled the cup. Five dice jangled within. _

_"You know how to play, don't you, Asgardian?"_

_Loki nodded. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. He was so, so cold._

_"Then we begin."_

_They shook the dice in their cups before slamming it down onto the table. Loki glanced to his left and right, making sure the other watching Chitauri were not positioned around him to give him away. He lifted his cup so only he could see within. Four threes, a six, and a five. _

_"Our guest of honor first," said the Chitauri, its grin broadening._

_Loki cleared his throat, then cleared it again. When he opened his mouth, his voice was so weak and thin even the stars hummed louder._

_"Six threes," said Loki. _

_The Chitauri narrowed its beady eyes. "Four fives."_

_Ah. So the Chitauri didn't trust him. Fair enough. _

_"Three sixes."_

_"Seven fives."_

_"Liar."_

_The cups lifted. Loki lifted an eyebrow at the Chitauri, who gritted its teeth. _

_"Round one," it said before scooping the dice back into the cup. Loki did the same, rattling it to shuffle the pieces before placing it upside down on the table again._

_ "Three twos."_

_"Five twos."_

_"Three fours."_

_"Five fives."_

_"Liar."_

_Loki relented and lifted his cup. The Chitauri grinned at the lack of fives on the table. Loki gritted his teeth._

_"Five games."_

_The dice splattered on the table like broken bones underneath their cups._

_"Four sixes," said the Chitauri._

_"Liar," said Loki._

_The Chitauri scoffed before they both lifted their cups. No sixes lied on the table. Loki discreetly let out a sigh of relief. Everything in him itched like a disease. He hated this feeling of nervousness, the kind he couldn't will away, that ballooned in his chest until his innards soured._

_"Round four," said the Chitauri._

_Four sixes, one five. _

_"Three fives," said Loki. _

_"Four fives," said the Chitauri._

_"Three sixes."_

_"Eight sixes."_

_"Liar."_

_The cups lifted. The Chitauri jeered and laughed and Loki bit down hard on the side of his tongue. One more game. He still had a chance. One more game and he could have a week of freedom. He was the God of Lies—who was better to play this game than him?_

_"Round five."_

_The sound of the dice was sickening—they slapped on the stone like broken teeth and shattered skulls. Loki knew the sound too well. He wondered what exactly the dice were made of._

_"Two threes," said Loki._

_"Four threes," said the Chitauri._

_"Three fours."_

_"Six fours."_

_"Five sixes."_

_The Chitauri smirked. "Liar."_

_The cups lifted. The Chitauri whooped and screamed with mirth at the results. Loki breathed in and out steadily, taking in his defeat. He tried to hide how tightly he was gripping his knees._

_"You are always nothing but lies, Frost Giant," said the Chitauri. "Nothing about you is true. You are made of falsehood—you are unreal—all would be better off if you did not exist."_

_Loki felt the others closing in on him. His heart raced and he wildly thought of running away before they could catch him, diving into the black void, praying for death before they could reach him._

_"Have your way with him, boys," said the Chitauri._

_Before Loki could react, the surrounding warriors lunged toward him. In less than a second he went from a prisoner to an animal. An animal to be tied with a lariat, to be hung upside down like a butcher's prize, humiliated and tortured. They tore open his stomach and let his insides flow. They called him names so gruesome he vomited just listening to them. When he screamed they shredded his tongue until he gurgled in his own blood. _

_In the aftermath, he couldn't move for a week._


	6. Chapter 6

**Writing for Tony in this chapter was the highlight of...well, this chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who read the last chapter, and a big thank you to all who reviewed! I appreciate every single one of you, and it really inspires me to write more to the best of my ability. **

* * *

"The fact of the matter is, something's kind of sort of messed up."

Of course, it had to be Tony that had to break the less than good news to Thor. Maybe it was because everyone knew that if it was between Thor and his magic hammer of awesomeness versus anyone else, it was Tony that could actually survive the impact. Said everyone else, however, seemed to forget that he required the suit in order to keep himself alive when Thor wasn't in his best mood, something Tony currently lacked.

"What do you speak of, Stark?" said Thor.

God, wasn't this supposed to be Bruce's job? The doctor breaking dramatic news to the family? He did not sign up for this.

"See, it's about Loki," said Tony. Immediately, Thor tensed and Tony regretted waking up this morning. He was supposed to be back at Stark Tower this Saturday morning, watching crappy cartoons, planning a date with Pepper, and eating pancakes that Dummy attempted to make. Not third-wheeling a Norse god bromance.

"Speak quickly, Stark," said Thor. "What is wrong with my brother?"

"I mean, it's nothing deadly…I don't think," said Tony. "It's just that we—well, SHIELD—has been scanning him for levels of magical activity regularly. You know, to make sure he doesn't get enough energy to blow something up. But we made sure to at least leave enough that he would be able to heal and stuff. And…well, something's amiss."

He called upon one of the convenient screens SHIELD had lying around and logged into Loki's records. He pointed to the line graph recording Loki's data. "See? You'd think that his magic would—you know—build up and then be gradually used for the healing process, right? I mean, this isn't science, no matter what you say, so I can't really say I'm accurate."

"It sounds practical, yes," said Thor, squinting at the graph.

"Yeah, but that's not the case here with Loki," said Tony. "Now, I'd understand if because he still has one cuff on, the process would go really, really slowly. But here, you can see—there is no level of elevation for Loki's magic at all. It's always at a huge low. But this graph—"

He scrolled down to the other line graph directly below. This graph was more unstable, rising and dropping to form mountain peaks. "This graph measures the unusual energy in him altogether, not necessarily the one he makes himself. And it's bouncing off the walls. By the looks of it, there's magic in him, but it's not—well, it's not his magic."

"Is it the poison I spoke of earlier?" said Thor, his forehead creasing.

"I don't know about you extraterrestrial type, but here on Earth we don't need magic poison. Poisonous poison does the job just fine," said Tony. "It's like an energy source—no, an energy cesspool. It looks as if it's feeding off of Loki's magic. That's why he isn't healing as he ought to."

"Does this condemn Loki?" Thor said, blanching.

"No," said Tony. "Well, not with us around. If you kept him out in the wilderness a little longer without any proper medical attention...let's not think about that."

"I thought he needed his magic to keep himself alive," Thor said, troubled. "You saw how he was on your vehicle. When you cut off his magic, he nearly died."

"Yeah, that's what I thought as well," said Tony. "But I think the case is—whatever this thing is, his magic wasn't fighting it off. It was letting the mystery thing suck it bone dry. And I guess when there was no magic to feed off of, said mystery thing resorted to sucking out Loki's life."

Thor licked his lips nervously. "What is this? How do we take it out of him?"

"That's the thing. No one's really sure," said Tony. "We did all these X-ray scans on him and CAT scans and Xerox copy scans, but we can't find anything in him that isn't supposed to be there. It seems like it's something closer to a disease more than anything."

"But will it kill him?" said Thor.

"It sure isn't doing him any favors," said Tony.

"Surely—surely there must be something that can be done," said Thor.

"It's hard to say," said Tony, leaning back in his chair. "Unless Reindeer Games can actually speak up and tell us what they did to him that might have led to that, we won't be going very far. Like I said, he'll heal the normal 'mortal' way, maybe. But mortals are pretty prone to infections or faulty biology."

Thor bit his lip, trying to find a loophole in this diagnosis. "Your chains can bind his magic," said Thor. "Surely you can make something that can bind the magic that inhibits Loki."

"You'd think that my babies I made would have already covered that, but they don't," said Tony. "If I really wanted to, I would have to run Loki through several tests to check for any sort of gamma ray or wavelengths coming from him that may differ from his own magic in order to specifically target it. You know, to make the stupid thing and such."

Thor gave a very wry half-smile. "But your SHIELD may not want to expend all that effort to save Loki, am I correct?"

Dammit. Point Break was sharper than he thought. Tony heaved a sigh, ruffling his dark hair.

"Okay, yeah, I was going to break it to you a little nicer than that," said Tony. "I mean, they didn't officially say anything, but—well—people talk, you know. And I listen. And they're not exactly pleased with the situation."

"And you?" said Thor.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "What about me?"

"Do you…do you not want to either?"

Since when was the toughest, tallest, muscleman straight from a steroids commercial so good at the puppy dog face? Tony heaved a sigh, wondering if now was the best time to test out his tact.

"We owe you a lot," said Tony. "For all your help three years ago. I mean, even Fury agrees. You didn't even have to and you still came and fought your own brother for us. That takes a lot, and we'd be assholes if we didn't appreciate it in some way."

Even if said way was to heal the very brother that they made Thor fight and potentially kill. Irony to Iron Man one-zero.

"I cannot thank you enough, Stark," Thor said, his voice thick (_Shit don't cry on me don't you dare cry on me because I don't even know how to comfort Pepper properly when she's teary after watching 'The Green Mile' much less a Norse Pikachu in the body of an Olympic athlete for crying out loud). _"I promise you, I will repay you in any way. I will give you and your realm the riches of Asgard. I'll enslave myself into your debt. I'll—"

"Okay, you're making me uncomfortable," said Tony. "Just uh…don't bring him around here ever again, all right? And don't tell anyone about this. The rest of the team, maybe. Clint, maybe not. Fury, probably. But everyone else, no. They'll be mutinous, I'll tell you."

"If it is so secretive, then how will you perform the tests and create the bind to help him?" said Thor.

"Stark Tower," said Tony. "I'll make it at Stark Tower. As for testing him…" Honest to God he didn't want Loki under his roof again. Stark Tower looked magnificent after its rebuilding and he'd hate to have Loki-shaped holes on the tiles (and a Tony-shaped hole through the window if history repeated itself) all over again. But realistically, he had all control of privacy and what came and went through his own tower, unlike SHIELD headquarters that undoubtedly had security cameras in their own urinals. "Oh, what the hell. If you keep a cap on his temper tantrums, I'll bring him in my place to run tests on him. We'll make some excuse about intensive care unit or rehabilitation, no one here will care."

"I thank you so much, Stark," said Thor. He let out a sigh of relief. "When I saw that Loki was not healing as well as he ought to, I feared the worst. But if there is a way to help him, then I can be at rest for a little while again."

"But if he so much as breaks a teacup in my place," said Tony, "we're going to have to have some conflict resolution. Kapeesh?"

"What?"

"Agreed?"

"Of course."

"Good," said Tony, letting out a breath. "I guess that leaves me to run the idea through Fury."

* * *

"You want to do _what?_"

Tony groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Look, I personally think it's a lot more sensible than—"

"Barton, at ease," said Fury, holding up a hand. Clint backed off, but the look on his face was murderous. Tony made a mental note to lock all his doors at night. "Stark, how exactly do you plan to do all this?"

"I'm a genius," said Tony with a shrug. "How else?"

Fury raised an eyebrow at Tony's cheeky grin. "How feasible is this?"

"I think I've dealt with enough crazy projects to figure this one out," said Tony.

"But why?" said Clint. "Why are you even thinking of this? He threw you out your own window."

"I owe Thor, all right?" said Tony. "We all do and we know it. He had nothing to gain in fighting for us and had everything to lose when he battled his brother. Trust me—I have no love for Loki. But I'd like to think I can get out of this debt I have for Point Break."

"We'd be doing everyone including Thor a favor if we just gave Loki a nice kick in the ass," said Clint.

"Yeah, well, I think Bruce's little buddy kind of already had that covered," said Tony. "What do you say, Fury? I mean, SHIELD won't have to play babysitter anymore."

"How is it that you would skimp from nicely phrased requests from SHIELD about certain duties and your suits for a trip to the doughnut store, and then when Loki flies out of nowhere onto Earth you'll drop your plans to accommodate for him?" said Fury.

"You don't have a monster of a big brother, do you?" said Tony.

"Do you have to do it in New York City?" Clint said, bristling. "Can't you find some abandoned island to do it? Far from the rest of civilization? No one knows if once he gets all better he goes on another rampage through town."

"Are you going to lift up Stark Tower and plant it somewhere nice and isolated for me?" said Tony.

"Well damn, don't you already have like, five of your own tower every one hundred miles?"

"All right, the two of you, shut your holes and listen," said Fury. Clint immediately silenced and fixed his attention on Fury; Tony made show of his groan of acquiesce and nodded. "Barton's got a point. Just because the guy is injured doesn't mean he's a threat. This is the god of lies, you remember."

"Yeah. A mute one," said Tony. "I can handle him."

"So here's the deal," said Fury. "I want Thor to be happy as well, but I don't want him or any of us dead. I also would rather blind myself than be caught giving a helping hand to that asshole."

"Well, you're halfway there," said Tony.

Fury glared at Tony until he relented into silence. "You take him to your tower, but I will have agents surrounding the area."

"What? Security breach? Are you serious?" said Tony. "JARVIS is protective enough."

"If you want this plan to work out, you need to compromise," said Fury. "For a job like this, I already know I want Romanoff and Barton in—"

"Nat and I?" said Clint, his face darkening. "Why?"

"Because I know that if Loki does anything suspicious, you two would be the first to shoot his eye out," said Fury.

"Point taken," said Clint.

"And about fifteen more all over the place," said Fury.

"To be fair, Director," said Clint. "If the guy wanted to wipe out fifteen people, he'd be able to wipe out fifteen people."

"Maybe Banner will get angry enough to have the Other Guy subdue him first," said Fury.

"So I have the get-go?" said Tony. He pumped his fist in the air. "Holy shit, yes. Now Thor won't be able to make his damn puppy eyes on me all the time."

"Then what happens?" said Clint. "He gets better, Thor whisks him back to Asgard…doesn't this sound familiar? How do we know he's not going to come back?"

"Thor made a promise to us that he'll keep Loki from coming back ever again," said Tony. "And the faster this goes, the faster we can get rid of him. And then maybe our lives will finally be a little more predictable again."

* * *

_You again._

For someone who was supposed to be prolific at lying, Natasha could read Loki's facial expressions quite clearly. She didn't know whether it was because of all the training she had in the past or if Loki wasn't bothering to hide his emotions around her anymore.

"I came to collect my prize," said Natasha, closing the door. She had a messenger bag draped over her shoulder, the pouch drooping from the weight. "Remember, what I get for winning the chess game?"

Loki's eyes flickered toward the ceiling and he sighed. He didn't look any better; in fact, he looked worse. His face was gaunt and gray, his eyelids drooping over his hazy green eyes.

She sat herself down on the stool again, letting the bag fall to the ground. She crossed her arms. Loki didn't look at her.

"So apparently you're going to be relocated," she said.

Loki made no sign that he heard, so she continued.

"Stark thinks he has an idea of how to make you heal faster, so he's bringing you to his place," she said. "Didn't they tell you?"

His eyes darted briefly toward the door.

"Thor's not coming with me, if that's what you're wondering," she said.

He glared at her reproachfully. She shrugged.

"What? Isn't that who you're waiting for?"

He sneered and turned to face the opposite blank wall.

"He's having a phone call right now, actually. Calling Jane Foster, if I remember correctly."

There it was. The swift clench of the fists before releasing them discreetly.

"I'm guessing you never met her," she said.

Loki didn't react.

"Last time you came around, SHIELD made sure she was protected. Everyone seemed to expect that you would aim to hurt her while you were here," said Natasha. She raised an eyebrow. "Would you have done that?"

His hands stayed as fists this time. She could tell by the stiffness in his shoulders that he wanted nothing more than to silence her himself.

"Are you jealous of her?" said Natasha.

Loki turned his head sharply at her, his mouth open in a snarl. No sound came from him, although she could hear his tight breath sputter in his throat. His eyes were like poisonous fire, picturing her violent demise in their emerald orbs.

"It's nothing unusual," said Natasha. Who knew that Loki of Asgard would be jealous of a mortal woman of all people? "I knew someone who had an older brother. His brother once had a crush on someone, and my friend was desperately jealous of her because his brother would do all these things for her and think of nothing but her."

Loki raised an eyebrow as if to tell her, _I know that you're talking about Barton._

She stared straight into eyes as if to say, _Want to bet on that?_

"I'll have you know something, for Thor's sake," said Natasha. "Thor loves you. Absolutely, completely. Sure, he loves others as well, but that doesn't change anything. You have no idea how much he's gone through for you. Because of you."

Loki's face was blank. She knew he was thinking something but this time she could not understand.

"He told us how he brought you out of the Chitauri's clutches," she said. He pursed his lips at the mention of his former captors. "How they had you work for them to get the Tesseract. I don't see why you would want to work with them in the first place, but to each his own."

The look on Loki's face was reproachful, and she felt another link click into place. He didn't like that she thought he joined forces with them gladly. Had they forced it upon him?

"Always took you as sort of a lone ranger," said Natasha. "You know, like how you said it would be every man for himself." She impressed herself with how much she remembered about what he said. "Yet you're doing the dirty work for them. Seems to me that you could have gotten Earth's control without all that war. Maybe you weren't as good of a leader as I thought you were."

He gritted his teeth and she couldn't help but smirk.

"It's true, though, isn't it? You could have taken Earth as your own in a much better way than violence. You're a smooth talker and politician, or at least in legends you were. Maybe they embellished a couple of details."

Oh, thank goodness he was mute, because she knew he would verbally tear her head off if he wasn't. His lips were pressed into a thin line of vexation.

"Or," said Natasha slowly, "you weren't the one making the call. It was the Chitauri who had the upper hand on the deal the whole time."

His eyes widened a fraction at her words.

"They always had the upper hand on you, didn't they?" she said.

He licked his thin lips. She thought she saw a flicker of a smile on his face.

Why couldn't he speak?

"Loki," she said. She knew it wasn't her business, and Fury didn't even demand she ask this of him, but her curiosity got the better of her. When things fell into place, they couldn't stop halfway. "Before you came to Earth the first time, before you sent the attack to New York City, did the Chitauri hurt you?"

He did not move.

"Loki?"

He made no sign of an answer. He kept his gaze evenly on the wall, transfixed by its white and flawless stretch. For a wild moment she wanted to take a grab of his shoulders and shake him until the answer rattled out of him, or point a knife at his throat to force him to spit it out. It was a first instinct, the habitual desires of a former killer, and when she realized how her hands were itching into a fist she stopped herself immediately. She swallowed hard and shifted her hands inconspicuously behind her back; she thought she had let go of those tendencies a long time ago.

"Thor told us that the Chitauri took you back. After talking to Asgard," she said, pulling the subject toward a different direction. "They threatened to kill you, but obviously they didn't."

Loki's face looked murderous, but he refused to lose his staring contest with the wall. He looked like he was trying to turn himself into stone, a statue whose ears could not listen to her words and a head whose mind would stop running.

"Were they trying to get something out of you?" said Natasha.

The corner of Loki's lips turned upward.

"Information? Enslavement?" she said.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, _Aren't you doing the same?_

"My tactics are a little different from theirs, I'm sure," she said, her voice icy.

(Because she remembered trailing her hands upon warm knuckles, pouring honeyed poison into ears, letting the dirt and grime of the room sink deep through her pores as she fished for what she needed, goaded, laughed, until her hook hitched onto the truth and she yanked it out, tearing their tongues and breaking their jaws, until those eyes so glazed with trust like glaucoma froze and there was more that was broken than their necks)

"Are they going to come for you again?" she said.

Loki froze, his lips gently parted in shock. He tentatively raised a hand and fingers his chest, his eyes wide and pondering. Natasha sat on the edge of her seat, the excitement jittering inside of her.

"Would they try to take you back?"

Loki turned to face her, and something in his eyes made Natasha falter. His gaze wasn't the cold, spiteful knife that dissected her every thought and movement. They were round, large, like a child's—afraid. Asking if she would hand him over immediately if she were asked. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight in general; God knows how many times Natasha saw the very same questioning, broken gaze after her targets _(victims) _realized the truth of her ploy. But it had been a long time since she had, and the resurrection of that gnawing past (_it's not guilt_) startled her.

_I guess that's a yes, _she thought.

Then it hit her. This was Loki, of all people. Loki who sent an entire army to ravage New York City. The Loki that threatened her with death by Clint, who was so close to hurting those she cared for. Who laughed when the Hulk ripped the helicarrier apart and stabbed Coulson. This was Loki, and he was _scared_.

The fact that she could reduce him to that state with a simple reminder of his past allies was both empowering to her and disturbing.

"This Thanos person won't hesitate to destroy Earth if you were on it, would he?" she said, her voice soft and casual.

He didn't move a single muscle. In the end, he closed his eyes and laid his head back upon his pillow, trying to block her out of his sight and mind.

She knew that she had frightened him, despite how he tried to hide behind closed eyes and a faceless façade. She wondered if she ought to feel victorious. Manipulation was one thing—fear was cheating.

"I'm just wondering," she said, her tone light. She left his fear and uncertainty hanging until he couldn't grapple whether she was threatening him or merely asking. Whether they would protect him or wait to hand him over at the opportune moment. It was cruel but sadistic.

He opened his eyes again and his lips pulled into a half-smile. It did not escape her attention that his hands were shaking.

Good, she tried to think. Good, he deserves it. He deserves to be taken down a couple of notches.

But the train of thought dissolved halfway through.

_(Would you rather have so much pain you are afraid, or be so afraid it hurts?)_

She didn't realize that he was reaching toward her bag until she felt it shift from the side of her chair onto the bed. Like a mischievous puppy, Loki tugged her messenger bag onto his lap and dumped the contents onto the bed. Her pepper spray, her keys, her bathroom necessities, and everything else fell onto the covers.

"Hey, stop that," she said, reaching out to take the bag from him. He whipped it away with a glint in his eye.

She shot him a look of incredulity. Was this his way of retaliation?

Thankfully, her personal belongings did not seem to spark his interest, as he disregarded her tampons and pepper spray. He reached for the small book within the pile. She pretended to shift uncomfortably in her seat, which immediately caught his eye. Brushing the messenger bag back onto the ground, he picked it up deliberately and held it tightly to his chest.

_Mine. _

She would have laughed out loud if it wouldn't have broken her façade of indignation. "I was going to lend that to Thor," she said sharply. "You can't have it."

His fingers tightened their hold on the small book. Were all Norse deities so childlike?

"Come on, hand it over," she said, holding out her hand.

He placed her pile of tampons into her palm. She couldn't help but snort.

"Seriously," she said. "No time for games."

He raised his eyebrows.

"You can have it after Thor," she said.

That did it. He turned to the first page and immediately began reading, as if nothing could stop him.

"You brat," she said, sweeping the rest of her possessions back into the bag. She could have sworn she saw him smirk behind the pages. "By the time I come back, you better be finished and ready to give it over."

He didn't look up from the pages, so he didn't see her break into a grin as she left the room.

She reckoned a nice dosage of _Macbeth _ought to get her message through him.

* * *

_It burned. He melted. He was almost certain of it. He could feel his skin crackling, shrinking like paper in a fireplace, flaking away into ash. _

_"We'll only ask you one more time, Frost Giant."_

_Don't scream._

_"Tell us of these mortal heroes."_

_He dug his nails into the gritty soil underneath him, trying to hold everything in. Trying to implode into nothing._

_"How can they be defeated?" _

_He pictured Thor torn limb to limb, the Chitauri feasting on the flesh off his bone. He could see the green monster drowning in acid. He could see that woman flayed and tasted like a piece of meat. _

_He swallowed his screams. He didn't know why._

_"What is their weakness?"_

_(It's in your face, it's so damn obvious, they're human, they're mortal, they have puffed up hearts, that is their weakness and that is their strength, don't you understand?)_

_"How did they make you fail?"_

_"How can we make Earth truly ours?"_

_"Speak."_

_"Speak!"_

_"TELL US!"_

_He burned like a dying star, and for the first time in what felt like two centuries, he laughed._


	7. Chapter 7

**Oh my word. I broke 100 reviews and it was only the sixth chapter?! I really think this is a first for me and I'm so so happy and thankful and SURPRISED, seriously. Thank you all so much who took the time to read and review my story! You guys keep me going, you really do. I'm so honored that you do so. **

**Also, I finally got around to watching my first ever Mission: Impossible movie (the 2011 one) and I have to say, I love Jeremy Renner in that movie. So much sass. So boss.**

**Not going to lie, I always fear I update too often. What if I catch up with my pre-written too quickly and have nothing to offer?!**

**Stay in tune for next chapter, where we hear more of Thor's side of the story he failed to mention earlier…**

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," Natasha said. She dropped her bag next to the chair and fell into hit, heaving a sigh. She had run all way from the SHIELD headquarters to the delicatessen where she agreed to eat lunch with Clint with only a minute to spare. "It took longer than I thought."

Clint looked up curiously from his cup of coffee. "What did?"

"My little chat with Loki, if you can call it that," she said. "Did you order yet?"

"Wait—you were talking to Loki?" said Clint.

"Lunch?" said Natasha.

Clint hesitated. "I haven't. I was waiting for you."

"Sorry," she said again. "Here, let's order now. I don't want you to stay hungry."

"I'm fine," said Clint, but he relented. They each ordered a pastrami Panini, the bread crisp and the cheese slick and melting. Just before she could sink her teeth into it, he spoke up again. "What were you talking to Loki about?"

She lowered the sandwich, a little disgruntled. Her stomach growled a protest. "Fury wants me to get some information out of him," she said. "It's going swimmingly."

"Really?"

"Peachy."

"He doesn't even talk."

"Exactly why it's so peachy."

Clint frowned before taking a bite out of his lunch. Natasha took this as a sign that lunch has commenced and therefore did not hesitate in wolfing down her sandwich.

"So," he said slowly, wiping his mouth with the brown napkin. "What did you get out of him?"

Natasha swallowed down her mouthful, her lips shiny with oil. "Fury wanted to know if there was a chance the Chitauri would come back for him here. Judging by his reaction, he obviously doesn't want that to happen. Whether or not it will is still a maybe."

"A maybe?" said Clint, his face darkening. "We shouldn't have to face those bastards another time."

"I don't want to either," said Natasha. "But things still aren't certain. Anyway, he's right now too weak to fight anything off even if they did come."

"So what's SHIELD going to do if they come around?" said Clint. "Fight them off or issue a compromise?"

Without warning, the memory of Loki's stricken face passed through Natasha's mind. She tried to shove it aside, the pastrami suddenly unsettling in her stomach.

"Thor wouldn't be too happy about the latter," Natasha said.

"Right," Clint said with a grunt. "Well, can't say that it isn't on the horizon."

"Right," said Natasha. She took another bite.

Clint gave her a guarded glance. "He hasn't done anything to you, has he? Loki?"

"I've handled him before, I can do it again," said Natasha.

"Last time, he compromised you," said Clint.

"Well, you were too. I'm as capable as anyone can be," said Natasha.

"I didn't mean it that way," said Clint. "I just—if there was any way to keep you from dealing with him again, I'd love it. He's no good for anyone. I don't want him—you know—hurting you."

"I can handle a punch," said Natasha.

"We both know he's not that kind of fighter," said Clint.

Natasha took the moment to take a sip of her chilled water.

"I've got a weak point of his I can hang over his head anyway," she said.

"What? What do you mean?" said Clint.

"I say a few things, I scare the daylights out of him, I get the upper hand," said Natasha. "Slowly, intimately, in every way he fears."

"Scare tactics again, huh?" said Clint.

"Again?" Natasha furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean by that?"

Clint shrugged. "You told me you used to use that as a tactic back in your—your assassin days. You'd make people afraid without them even realizing you were doing it on purpose."

"Oh." She had forgotten that tidbit. How many other ways did she know how to kill a person, anyway? "Well, it's more effective than torture or whatever it was that the Chitauri did to him."

Maybe that could make her ledger look just a little less scarlet. She could hope, at least.

For a moment she saw those fearful eyes again—this time they belonged to someone else, someone Natasha couldn't even remember. Maybe they were nobody's, and were just a manifestation of what she knew. Eyes of the fearful whose names she never bothered to know before she ended them.

"What makes you afraid the most?" she said abruptly.

Clint nearly choked on his coffee. "Sorry?"

"When were you most afraid?" she said.

Clint gave a weak chuckle. "Isn't this a little too philosophical for a sandwich lunch? This morning I had to seriously stop and ask myself how many Ns are in the word 'banana.' It's not three, in case you were curious."

"I'm just wondering," said Natasha.

Clint bit the inside of his cheek. "I like to think I'm usually not afraid," said Clint.

"I know," she said.

He raised his eyes to her. They both seemed to understand that she already knew the answer. But something in Natasha wanted to hear it from his own mouth, to realize the gravity of it—the gravity of fear.

"When I first got out of Loki's…mind control, was afraid I killed you," he said. "The last thing I remembered up until that point was fighting you, and then all of a sudden I was back being myself again. I thought I might have killed you and I—I hated myself. For a moment I had lost my—I killed—I lost you."

Clint looked down, slightly embarrassed. Natasha felt her heart clench but she kept her voice efficiently even.

"You saw me a split second afterward," she said.

"I know," said Clint. "But the thing about fear is that it's sort of timeless. It doesn't matter if it lasted a second or a lifetime, it's still just as present and just as powerful."

Natasha nodded mutely. It unnerved her—just slightly—that she indirectly struck fear in Clint as well as Loki and countless others.

"Don't beat yourself over it, Nat," said Clint. "It was your job."

"A job," she said. It didn't feel right, discrediting the fact that she had done it regardless, but she accepted it blindly.

"How do you feel about this, anyway?" said Clint.

"About what?" said Natasha.

"This whole…thing," said Clint. "The thing with Loki. Taking him in and everything."

Natasha carefully mulled it over while sneaking in one last bite of her sandwich. "I'm impressed with how well you're taking it."

"Come on, Nat, I want to know how _you_ feel about it," he said.

She exhaled deeply. "It's the last thing I ever expected to do," she said. "And I would rather be doing something else."

"Nice euphemisms," he said. He leaned back in his chair, sighing. "I thought Fury would be against this, but he's apparently all for it. Or at least, not totally denying it."

"And who are we to question?" she said.

"How do we know this isn't one big joke?" said Clint. "What if he's pretending to be all mute and hurt only to screw us over later?"

"I don't think so," Natasha said.

Clint raised his eyebrows. "How are you so dead sure about it?"

She couldn't stop seeing Loki's terror in her head. "For a supposed god of lies, he's awful at hiding things."

"Or maybe he's pulling reverse psychology on you," said Clint.

"Funny, because I do the same to him," she said. "What do you feel?"

Clint bit the corner of his lip.

"I don't think you'd want to hear my answer," he said.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because part of me doesn't want you to hear."

"What are you hiding from me?"

Clint glanced up at Natasha. "My ugly side. The part of me that's a bad person."

He bit his lip before finishing the rest of his sandwich, letting his answer fade. Natasha stared down at her half-eaten lunch. As silly as it sounded, this was why she hated thinking when she ate. Sometimes her thoughts went to places that made her stomach twinge.

"I haven't used it often," said Natasha.

"What?" said Clint.

"Scare tactics," said Natasha. "I usually just did my dance. I didn't make someone legitimately scared to get what I wanted often at all. Only when I really needed to."

"It's okay, Nat," said Clint. "I'm serious. You did what you had to do. What they forced you to do. That wasn't your fault."

"Not my fault," she echoed. Not her fault when she pointed a gun to one of her fellow girls in the Red Room—an eight year old child—to frighten her as punishment for stealing a piece of candy from the mistress. No one had ordered Natasha to do it. No one put the gun in her hand. She seized the moment to feel powerful when she looked into that tearstained face and heard those pleas for understanding. Oh, how it made her powerful.

This feeling (_it isn't guilt)_ was an ugly, ugly thing.

* * *

"So, here we are," said Tony, pushing the doors open. "Home sweet home. Welcome to Stark Tower. Not that you haven't been here before, considering you used it as your tower of evil and doom and then smashed your face into it."

Loki glared at Tony but as usual, did not retort. Bruce wheeled Loki into the makeshift medical room. Loki was on a wheelchair, although even that was almost too much for him. His back was still ripped and the spine still weak so that he could barely sit up properly, not that he would let anyone figure this out as he sat up ramrod straight. Bruce couldn't help but shake his head at this. He had his share of proud patients, but Loki was almost self-destructive in his.

Tony patted his hand on the bed in the middle of the room. "This is where we'll be running our tests. You know, see if we can tap into that source of wibbly wobbly in you."

Loki frowned.

"You know, there's something in you that's not supposed to be in you. Magic," said Tony. "Not _your _own magic, but something that's sucking it up. You wouldn't happen to kn—hey, don't touch that!"

Loki had lost interest in Tony's sporadic spiel and was admiring some of the tools used for Iron Man's armor repair that Tony had accidentally left behind. Tony strode over and took it from Loki's hands immediately.

"No. Bad Loki," said Tony. Loki looked positively murderous at the condescension, which made Tony smirk widely. "My place. My rules. We're doing you one hell of a favor. Well, technically, we're doing Thor a favor, but that kind of includes you too. Is Thor coming around any time soon, Bruce?"

"He's with Fury right now," said Bruce, wheeling Loki away from the table of tools. "He'll be over a little later."

"Well, I'll give him a rundown of the rules once he comes back," said Tony, waving around the screwdriver. "We'll start with you." He spun around and pointed the screwdriver at Loki. "You. You're not allowed to leave this room ever. Not without supervision. Hell, you're not leaving the bed. We can't have you trying to crawl away with one working hand like that one time."

If Bruce didn't know any better, he would have thought he saw Loki's face flush with embarrassment. Several days ago, Loki had tried to run off from SHIELD's medical center, but considering he had a broken arm and both his legs couldn't carry his weight, he was left dragging himself down the hallway like an earthworm. Not exactly an ideal situation to find the ex-villain, but it was the truth nonetheless.

"Hands off of Pepper," said Tony. "Don't talk to her, don't think about her, don't even look at her, even though she's one hell of woman. If you so much as eat peppers, I'll consider that as breaking the rule."

Loki shot Bruce a perplexed look.

"Pepper is Tony's girlfriend," said Bruce. "That's her nickname."

"If you do anything suspicious, I'm going to know. Seriously," said Tony. "So don't even try. JARVIS?"

"_Yes, sir?_"

Loki jumped a little in his wheelchair at the sound of the disembodied voice. Tony grinned at Loki's brief moment of panic before Loki pulled on a face of pure and foreboding irritation.

"Make sure Reindeer Games here doesn't leave this room. Ever. Not without either me or Bruce. And maybe Thor, so long as Bruce or I am around as well. Can't trust that man with his little brother," said Tony. "And make sure he doesn't touch my stuff."

"_Duly noted, sir._"

"And that's JARVIS," Bruce said to Loki. "He's Tony's computer. Just think of him as a personal assistant and butler that isn't actually alive."

Whether or not Loki understood that was beyond Bruce. He couldn't help but notice how on edge Loki was when Bruce approached him, how his long fingers wrapped tightly around the armrests of his wheelchair and how taut his face became. Bruce backed off slightly, perplexedly trying to remember if he ever did or said anything to offend Loki more than the others.

Somewhere in him, the other guy must have chuckled.

"How about we get you on the bed?" said Bruce.

Loki shook his head.

"You just want to…sit for a while?"

Loki gritted his teeth and tried to wheel the chair with only one hand.

"Whoa, that's just going to make you spin in circles," Bruce said, gently placing a foot against the wheel to keep it from moving. "Just tell me where you want to go and I'll take you."

"Let the guy do what he wants," said Tony, fixing one of the machines he brought in to test Loki with. "Can't learn without failure, right?"

"I think you just want him to make a fool out of himself," Bruce said.

"Smart," said Tony. He approached Loki, who glowered at him. He bent down a little to be eye level, like a preschool teacher reprimanding the class clown. "You behave and Uncle Tony will get you better really fast so he can kick your ass out even faster. You step out of line, we're throwing said ass into a gutter."

Loki reached out to Tony's collar, and for a moment Bruce thought Loki was going to grab the front of Tony's shirt and bash him against the bed. However, instead of violently acting out, Loki's fingers brushed Tony's chest. His eyes widened slightly and he bit the tip of his tongue as he traced a perfect circle on Tony's chest.

Tony was just as bewildered as Bruce was.

"Er, Loki?" said Bruce.

Loki immediately pressed his hand flat against Tony's chest. Tony backed off immediately, his face the look of absolute befuddlement. Loki reached out again, more desperately, pointing to Tony's shirt.

"Bruce? What does he want?" said Tony, eyeing Loki like he was a misbehaving Rottweiler. "Bruce, make him stop."

"Is something the matter?" said Bruce.

Loki reached out further, nearly falling out of the wheelchair. Bruce caught him immediately, but Loki shrugged off his hand quickly. Against his wishes, Tony took a half step closer to Loki, barely close enough that Loki's fingers could graze his chest.

"Yeah, you're checking out my arc reactor?" said Tony as Loki pressed his fingers against the metal circle. "How'd you know? Is it glowing through my shirt?"

"Maybe he can sense the energy coming from it," said Bruce.

Loki was now trying to tug Tony's shirt open. Tony caught Loki's hand immediately and wrenched it away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast, Reindeer Games," said Tony. "How am I supposed to explain that to Thor? To _Pepper_?"

"I think he just wanted to see it, Tony," said Bruce.

"No way am I showing it to him. He'll use the information against me," said Tony.

Loki shook his head before turning to his own loose shirt. He undid the first several buttons, revealing his pale chest.

"I'm so confused right now," said Tony.

Before Bruce could say something sardonic, Loki pulled his shirt slightly open. Pressing his fingers against his skin, he bit down on his bottom lip and closed his eyes.

To Bruce's shock, jagged blue lines etched themselves into Loki's chest in a gruesome, deep X, as if someone sewed his skin with neon light. It looked ugly, deadly, even with its unusual blue sheen, stretching across Loki's heart. The lines faded to dark red scars where blood had once flooded.

"Holy shit," said Tony. "What the hell is that?"

Bruce wordlessly pulled a chair next to Loki. Loki's fingers tightened suddenly on his shirt and he pulled it close again.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Bruce. "I just—can I look at it? Please?"

"How did you miss that the first time?" Tony said.

"It wasn't there before," said Bruce. He held up his hands to show Loki he was unarmed. "I'm not going to do anything. I'm just going to look at it. Please?"

"Come on, Reindeer Games," said Tony. "If there's any one of us you can trust, it's Bruce."

Bruce couldn't help but disagree on that. At least, the other guy was the last person anyone can trust anyway. Nonetheless, Loki resignedly pulled his shirt open again, the blue wound spreading across his chest again.

"Can you…control when it shows up?" said Bruce.

Loki bit his lip, but indicated no answer.

"Is this some creepy alien wound?" said Tony. "Just nod or shake your head."

Loki did neither. He looked like he was more than ready to close his shirt again, regretting showing either of them. Bruce realized with a jolt that it wasn't speaking that Loki was so afraid to do; Loki was scarred from communication.

"Can I touch it?" said Bruce.

Bad question. Loki immediately backed away from Bruce, drawing his shirt back on immediately. Suddenly he had a look of anger on his face, as if Bruce had insulted him.

"I won't hurt you," said Bruce.

"It looks like the Tesseract," said Tony. "The blue glow. It reminds me of it. I'm going to see if I can run gamma ray tests on him."

"You think that Tony has the same thing you have?" Bruce said to Loki.

Tony stopped in his tracks, perplexed. Loki's eyes darted feverishly toward Tony before he pursed his lips.

"I definitely do not have that going on," said Tony. "This arc reactor isn't sucking my life out. Well, not in that way, anyway. Is that what yours is doing? Feeding off of you?"

Loki let his hands fall to his lap, his face troubled. The light began to pulse and he swallowed hard. It reminded Bruce of Loki's staff years ago. Before Loki could stop him, Bruce placed two fingers against the lines.

The effect was almost instantaneous. A rush of painful, overwhelming sound tore at his eardrums, speaking in tongues that no human could ever work. An icy sensation wrestled his nerves, tying them into a knot that muddled his senses—he heard with his tongue, tasted with his eyes, felt with his mind. He didn't know top from bottom, left from right, he didn't even know if he had a body.

_You are a traitor and a failure why do you bother to draw breath_

He couldn't recognize the voice, but there was something so familiar and daunting about it that Bruce was almost convinced he heard it a long time ago in a childhood nightmare.

_I will find you and destroy you you cannot run from me you will suffer more than you have ever known_

He tried to pull away, but there was nothing to pull away from. There was nothing to move—everything was a ball of existence, a pure form of energy with no form.

_Your world will fall your universe will fall everything that you ever held dear will be reduced to nothing_

_MonstermonstermonsterMonster MONSTER—_

Bruce jerked back, nearly crashing into Tony. He gasped for breath, his glasses knocked off his face and his hairline dotted with sweat. Tony barely caught Bruce before he fell to the ground, shouting in complete bewilderment.

"Okay—what the hell was _that_?" said Tony.

Bruce wriggled out of Tony's grip, hurrying to Loki's side. Loki was shuddering uncontrollably, his face equally pale and perspiring. His eyes were half-closed as if he was in a trance and he was barely breathing. He had a deathlike grip on the armrests of his wheelchair, like ice curled around the tree branches. Bruce put a hand on Loki's forehead—underneath the sweat Loki was very cold.

"Shit, I think I did something to him," Bruce said. He could still feet his heart beat wildly in his own chest.

"You nearly did something to me, for crying out loud," said Tony. "You were rooted into Loki like some parasite and then all of a sudden you go rigid and I thought someone was going to die under my roof."

"I was still here?" Bruce said, checking for Loki's pulse. It was rapid, frighteningly so. Cursing loudly in his mind, he pulled Loki off of the wheelchair. Someone the sudden movement must have jerked him back to consciousness because Loki began flailing immediately, his hands flying to Bruce's throat.

"Tony, a little help here!" Bruce said before Loki's fingers closed around his neck.

Immediately, Tony dragged Loki away from Bruce, forcing him onto the hospital bed. Loki backed up against the wall at the head of the bed as if he was cornered by beasts. Even through his shirt they could see the faint glow of his wound.

"Are you okay?" said Bruce. "Are you hurt?"

Loki could only stare at Bruce with wide eyes, his mouth in a thin line of rage. Bruce glanced over Loki swiftly to make sure none of his wounds reopened. It unnerved him slightly that even when Loki barely had the energy to hold himself upright, his grip on Bruce's throat was far from weak. How much did it take to kill a god?

"I didn't mean to," said Bruce. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see what it would do. If I could figure out how to help."

Loki's eyes sharpened and he clearly looked as if he wanted to say he needn't anyone's help.

"Does it hurt all the time?" said Bruce. "Do you—do you hear those voices all the time?"

Loki faltered and he slowly raised his head higher.

"Did they…did the Chitauri cut you open to put something in you?" said Bruce.

"Why didn't it show up on the X-rays?" said Tony.

"Maybe the X-ray can't pick it up because it's completely and literally out of this world," said Bruce. "Maybe it's pure magic."

"And they cut him open to put it in him?" said Tony, grimacing.

"Loki—what did they put in you?" said Bruce. "Is it anything like the Tesseract?"

Loki still hadn't stopped shaking. He raised thin hands and pressed it against his chest, the blue feebly blinking between his fingers.

"We won't hurt you for telling us," said Tony. "No one's going to find out and hurt you. Nothing private leaves Stark Tower."

Loki let out a soft breath. He moved his head by just a millimeter to affirm.

"But Thor took the Tesseract back to Asgard, didn't he?" said Tony. "And the scepter…"

Loki shuddered and Bruce figured his health demanded immediate attention. He checked Loki's blood pressure and wounds to make sure he hadn't hurt himself along the way. His blood pressure was very low and he looked faint.

"Rest, Loki," said Bruce. "That's the best way to get you to heal is to sleep. You haven't gotten any since you came to us."

Loki turned away from Bruce, his hand still upon his chest. The glowing slowly faded into nothingness.

"You'll be safe here," said Tony. "JARVIS will keep an eye on you for both our sake and yours, okay? So…don't worry about it. You'll be fine."

Loki slowly sank down until he lied upon the bed. He looked more scared than tired; Bruce felt immensely guilty.

"We'll keep an eye out for you," said Bruce. "And Thor will see you after you rest, all right?"

The fact that Loki didn't frown at the mention of Thor signified to Bruce that he was very unwell. He turned off the lights and gestured Tony to follow him out of the room. Tony trotted out, casting another uneasy glance at Loki before shutting the door behind the both of them. The moment the door was secured shut, Tony turned toward Bruce.

"Okay, what exactly just happened and should I be extremely concerned?" said Tony.

"It felt like I was in another dimension when I touched it," said Bruce, keeping his voice low. "I had no body, only a mind, but I could still feel everything. Like my mind rocket ship shot out into space and it had to get rid of its tanks—my body—along the way."

"You looked like you were possessed," said Tony.

"How did Loki look?" said Bruce.

"No more attractive," said Tony. "He looked pretty tortured too." He muttered a curse. "Whatever those Chitauri did to him…God, I don't even want to know. I thought the other guy beat him up pretty good that one time, too."

"The other guy feels pretty indignant, honestly," said Bruce with a dry smile. "I think he's protective over Loki or something. Like nothing else is allowed to kick his ass except him."

Tony snorted before sobering up. "What else happened? Did it give any clue as to what it was?"

"I heard disembodied voices," said Bruce. He rubbed the side of his head, his ears ringing; even now he could almost hear it again, as if the voice was right behind his ear. "They were saying…things I didn't personally understand. Someone was threatening to hurt—I don't think they were talking to me, but I think they were talking to Loki. Threatening to destroy everything."

"Was that Loki's subconscious that you tapped into?" said Tony.

"It definitely wasn't Loki speaking, but it was surely in his mind," said Bruce. "And they kept calling him a monster. Over and over again."

He felt a strange emotion stir in him at the thought. He wondered if Loki had to hear that every living second: someone cursing him as a monster. In any other situation apart from his own, the word 'monster' would have been theatrical—melodramatic, even. But to hear someone call another person it with all the spite and venom laced in their voice as then struck too close to home for Bruce.

"You okay there?" said Tony. "You actually look not your best."

"Just a little woozy," said Bruce, rubbing his aching head. It was unusually harder to draw breath. "Just a little…confused, is all. And I guess shaken." He shook his head. "I can't imagine why the Chitauri would want to sew it inside of Loki, whatever it really is."

Tony made a face at the thought of it. "Can't believe he thought my arc reactor was the same thing."

"Poison nonetheless," said Bruce.

"Different flavor of poison," said Tony. "Should we tell Fury about this? Or better yet, Thor?"

"Thor might actually understand it if we tell him," said Bruce. "Any idea if we can use technology to put a cap on it?"

"I'll run a test on him after he gets his beauty sleep," said Tony. "Gamma rays first. I don't want to think they stuffed him with the Tesseract but that's a good place to start. You go and get yourself an Advil or something, okay? You look awful."

"Right, right," said Bruce, waving a tired hand. The amount of concern anyone showed him, much less Tony Stark, was still something that took time to get used to. "Keep an eye on Loki too, okay? He might not have his magic, but there's really no telling what'll happen."

"Right on it," said Tony. "Hey, JARVIS?"

"_Yes, sir?_"

"Have the video of the room Loki's in on the screens for Bruce and me all the time, okay?"

"_Right away, sir."_

On cue, the television screens that lined the hallways flickered to life, revealing a screenshot of Loki's room. Tony frowned at the sight of it.

"What's he doing?" said Tony.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows. Loki was on the bed still, but he was curled under the sheets, his arms over his head as if protecting himself. Even from the fuzzy quality of the video Bruce could tell he was trembling, his shining eyes still open in the dark.

"Maybe it'll take him a while to go back to sleep," said Tony. "Whatever that was must have given him a scare for a bit."

Loki stayed like this for the remainder of the night.

* * *

_"Your words are worthless, Frost Giant."_

_"Everything you say, every word you utter, every sound you make, is a curse on all ears."_

_"Your thoughts are meaningless."_

_"Your voice is only that of lies."_

_"There is nothing true about you, nothing kind, nothing valuable."_

_"You waste our time with your words and screams."_

_"You are not worth knowing, you are not worth remembering, your thoughts are not worth understanding."_

_ "Don't waste your breath."_

_"Don't waste ours."_

_"All nine realms would have been better off if the All-father bashed your head against stones when you were a babe."_

_"Insignificant. Your words are empty of truth and value. Who would listen to the wicked imposter of a prince?"_

That day, Loki remembered, was a day he tore out his own tongue.


	8. Chapter 8

**For those who wondered where Thor went during all this, look no further. The poor guy needed a break after virtually thirteen years of worrying his butt off for his little brother. Welp, things aren't going to get any better for him, nehehehehe.**

**Also, I'm a little under the impression that people think Loki no longer has a tongue at the current moment? I was under the impression that people like Thor and Loki and the rest of the AEsir have the magical ability to regenerate, so just to clarify, Loki still has a tongue. He just...keeps tearing it out among other things. Just to make sure!**

**One last thing: THE WONDERFUL ORDIS MADE A LOVELY LITTLE FANFICTION FOR MY STORY. She based it off of the section where the Chitauri feeds Loki bread when Loki was in captivity. Check it out! /s/8578222/1/Daktoa-for-One**

**Thank you all so much to those who reviewed! You guys truly make me so happy and motivated, and each one of them brings a smile to my face. Thank you all for your support!**

* * *

Thor was more than just tired. He felt as if he hadn't slept for a millennium. Truthfully, he had not slept a wink during those ten pseudo-years that he had spent searching for Loki in the empty space, and he certainly couldn't bring himself to sleep when he came on Earth, always on guard that SHIELD agents may turn their word against him and Loki and let their ill will take advantage of them. It wasn't that he didn't trust SHIELD (or at least, he denied it in himself vehemently), but he knew that if they were anything like he once was before his banishment, they would not fear nor hesitate to seek revenge.

He sat silently in the kitchen of Stark Tower, warming his hands on the cup of coffee Pepper had brewed for him. She silently fixed herself a cup of hot tea while he mulled on the circumstances, careful not to tread on his silence. She was a practical woman, and a lovely one at that; more than enough to balance the impulsive Tony Stark.

"Banner and Stark have been with Loki for a long time," Thor said, his voice remaining calm.

Pepper glanced back at Thor. "They were still running tests on Loki last time I checked," said Pepper. "They thought they found some sort of radiation coming out of him, but they wanted to make sure."

"From the wound on his chest?" said Thor. Bruce had tried to bring Thor into Loki's room to confirm the origins of the strange blue scars, but Loki adamantly refused to show it to Thor, nearly lashing out on him in the process. In the end, Thor had to settle with seeing a screenshot of it that JARVIS took for him. It was compelling, to be frank, if not almost familiar, but unless Thor could actually behold it himself, he could hardly recognize it.

"Yeah," said Pepper, dipping her teabag into the hot water. Amber blossomed on the surface. "It's still not showing up in X-rays, but Tony suspects whatever this thing is would probably be located near Loki's heart."

Thor gritted his teeth. Thanos never did things halfway, apparently. He was convinced this was the very poison that nearly killed Loki on the quinjet, but as for what it specifically was left him clueless.

"Hey, Thor." Natasha and Clint joined them in the kitchen. Even at eleven in the night they still donned their SHIELD uniforms, evidently preparing for night duty ("Loki-watching," as Clint dubbed it). Clint waved a hand at Thor before opening the fridge and taking out a tall aluminum can of energy drinks. With a soft pop, the can snapped open and he glugged it down.

"Isn't that Tony's?" said Natasha.

"Shh," said Clint, taking another gulp. "That guy doesn't need Monster to stay up at night. I'm a hawk, not an owl."

"He told me to send you a bill for all his espresso shots you took from the fridge," said Pepper.

"Are you kidding me?" said Clint. "He could probably take the money he got selling his toenail to _buy _the entire company of energy drinks."

"Don't worry about it," said Pepper. "I added it to his costs for all the alcohol he drinks. Maybe he'll take the hint."

"You're a saint," said Clint.

"How are you, Thor?" said Natasha.

Thor looked up, almost forgetting that he was in the room along with everyone else and not part of the audience as if watching a play, letting the conversation pass him by without latching onto him like hooks.

"I am all right," said Thor with a smile. "I haven't been sleeping well, but that is all."

"No kidding, considering you're drinking black coffee right before midnight," said Clint.

Thor shrugged wordlessly, taking a small sip. Natasha furrowed her eyebrows and pulled a bar stool next to him at the kitchen island.

"You aren't going to help anyone if you don't rest, Thor," said Natasha. "Not yourself, much less Loki."

Thor winced; Natasha always knew how to detect the bold truth with a mere glance. Clint shot a sidelong glance at Thor before downing another healthy gulp of energy drink.

"Loki hasn't been resting properly either," said Thor. "He's ill, and I know it. Not only in his body, but in his mind and soul."

"I agree with the mind part," Clint muttered into his can. Thor pretended he did not hear.

"But that doesn't mean you can't let yourself sleep," said Natasha.

Perhaps not, but that didn't rule out that Thor still felt uncomfortably guilty. How could he let himself rest when his brother was plagued with nightmares both asleep and awake? Nightmares that Thor could have prevented, he remembered cynically.

"Is everyone crowding around in here?" Steve walked into the kitchen, yawning. He already had his pajamas on (Tony spent a good two weeks teasing Steve for his plaid matching pajamas, only to find out that it was Pepper who bought them for him), worn out from a long day of carrying out SHIELD errands and responsibilities. He occasionally stayed at Tony's tower on the insistence of all the other Avengers, considering that outside of SHIELD Steve didn't exactly have his own home. Truthfully, everyone Tony housed was essentially homeless.

"Isn't this a little past your beddy-bye time?" said Clint.

"I just wanted some milk," Steve said. He opened a cupboard for the collection of mugs. "Stark and Banner still working?"

"They've been at it for hours," said Pepper.

"Sooner or later all three of them will have to crash," said Steve. "They can't keep this up forever."

"Tony's just getting started," said Pepper.

"Lure him out with some bourbon," said Clint.

"And let him get drunk when he's trying to play doctor?" said Pepper.

"Any idea of what it is, Thor?" said Steve, uncapping the bottle of milk from the fridge.

"I can only extrapolate," said Thor. "While Stark claims there are similarities to that of the Tesseract, I know fully well that the Tesseract is safe in the vaults of Asgard, whole and untouched. It would not be within Loki."

"Is there a Tesseract version two we should be aware of?" said Natasha.

"There is the Infinity Gauntlet, but that too is in Asgard," said Thor. He furrowed his eyebrows. "There may be the Infinity Gems, but I cannot see how Thanos would have gotten a hand on them. And even if he has located them, the Infinity Gem is only powerful to the beholder, and its full power is unleashed when joined with the other gems on the gauntlet. I see no logical reason why he would insert one of the main components into his prisoner."

"Well, to be fair, I doubt Thanos expected you to steal Loki away," said Steve.

"True, but a body is not the most ideal place to hide a treasure," said Thor. "Of all the gems though…let's see, I do not believe it would be Time. Time is too brash, too gaudy. Surely not Soul, else we'll have more to worry about than Thanos. If it were Reality, it would not have the effect that Bruce described. Surely not power or space…"

It clicked in his mind, and Thor closed his eyes.

"What is it?" said Steve.

"If it truly is an Infinity Gem," said Thor, "it would be the Mind gem. I truly believe it."

"Mind gem…?"

Before Steve could inquire further, the elevator doors in the hallway rang and parted. Tony and Bruce joined them in the kitchen, eyes heavy with shadows. Stubble was trailing Bruce's lips and Tony actually looked sleep deprived for the first time in a long time. Thor stood from his seat immediately, nearly knocking down his seat.

"How is he?" said Thor.

Tony snorted before taking the energy drink from Clint's hand and downing the rest of it.

"He's…distressed, to say the least," said Bruce. "He freaks out whenever I try to come close to his wound, even when I promised not to hurt him like—like last time. I think…this Thanos guy, or whoever was with Loki, they used that thing in his chest to torture him."

Thor felt fire sear his mind and he wanted nothing more than to tear the Chitauri limb from limb. The return of his old warmongering mind did not shock him as it should; all he felt was the rage that anyone would hurt Loki.

"Is he resting now?" said Thor.

"Er—as much as he can," said Tony. "I mean, he hasn't slept at all, and I doubt he will."

"Why won't he sleep?" said Clint.

"He's smart and knows you're in the same house as he is," said Tony.

"I think he's afraid," said Bruce quietly.

Thor turned sharply to Bruce. Even Clint raised his eyebrows in surprise. Natasha turned away to brew herself a cup of black coffee.

"Afraid? Does he not believe he is safe here?" said Thor.

"Probably," said Tony. "He just got out of a bunch of years of torture. I'm personally surprised he hasn't gone completely, utterly crazy."

Thor bunched his hand into a fist. "I will destroy the Chitauri," he said. "I will draw and quarter Thanos until he begs for mercy."

"Calm yourself, big guy," said Tony, lightly slapping Thor's arm. "You'll get yourself killed if you don't take a deep breath."

"Loki has suffered far too much for far too long," said Thor. "Ever since he fell from the Bifröst…no, maybe even longer…he's gone through too much."

"What happened at the Bifröst?" Natasha said, turning around.

Thor looked up to Natasha. "It's a rather lengthy tale," said Thor.

"That's what you say all the time," said Tony.

"It is. Perhaps a thousand years worth of a tale," said Thor. "Ever since we were young, my brother…Loki, he thought everyone considered him inferior. And perhaps they did without realizing it. He was always considered more fragile, weaker than the rest of Asgard because of his prowess in magical arts. None ever truly appreciated his intellect. Not even me. It deteriorated his relationship with our parents and me."

Thor came to realize that everyone was listening to him now and he suddenly felt very self-conscious. Truthfully, it was not his story to tell, but he felt the strong urge to speak, as if to prove to others that Loki wasn't truly evil, and that Thor was never guiltless.

"I was not there when he fell apart," said Thor. "I was on Midgard, banished for my brash cruelty. Last I saw him, he was fighting side by side with me. When I returned, he had tried to end me and was destroying an entire realm—the realm of Jotunheim. He was unstable, emotionally and mentally. Tearing himself from me. Saying all he ever wanted was to be my equal…he never wanted the throne."

Thor rested his forehead against his fists. "In the end, after I destroyed the rainbow bridge to keep Jotunheim from being completely destroyed, he fell. No…he jumped. He tried to end his life. We all thought him dead until our gatekeeper saw him on Midgard, wreaking havoc."

"He tried to kill himself?" Bruce said.

Thor raised his eyes to Bruce. Bruce looked troubled, if not a little understanding, and the thought made Thor twinge with heartache that anyone would be so heartbroken to think that the world would be better off without them. He bowed his head in a deep nod.

"When we mourned, my mother told me what had happened," he said. "Loki found out through terrible circumstances that he wasn't truly my father's son in blood. That he had been adopted, found as an abandoned baby in the snow. That he was a—a Frost Giant."

He loved Loki with all his heart, but the name of his brother's true creature felt unpleasant on his tongue. He wanted to respect the Jotuns, treat them with as much equality and care as he would an AEsir, but the memories of past assumptions and hatred made the thought of such creatures still repulsive. He felt disgusted by himself—he could never be a worthy brother if he could not accept the foundation of truth: Loki's true race.

"It broke him," said Thor. "All our lives we were taught that Frost Giant were vile, brutal, savage creatures, and when he found out by himself what he was, and how none told him, he hated himself utterly. He misunderstood Father and thought Father only saved him from dying for political purposes. That he didn't love him. And Thanos only furthered that lie, no doubt."

"He's not much of a fan of your dad anymore, huh?" Tony said, leaning against the counter. Pepper gave a sidelong glance at him and rested her hand against his elbow.

"It is a rift I'm afraid cannot be healed in a short time," said Thor. "Even with me…he hates me and I am most certain of it."

He still remembered his words, how he swore to kill all the Frost Giants when he was king. He remembered too well how easy it was for him to attack the Frost Giants when he thought them a threat. A cold sense of fear clenched his heart when he wondered if Loki thought that Thor would kill him just as quickly as he would any other Frost Giant he came across. Odin help Thor should he ever lay a hand on Loki.

"He said he never wanted the throne, so why did he come to Earth and demand people to kneel?" said Clint.

"That even I do not understand," Thor said with a weak laugh. "He fell from the bridge and a year had passed. Even I do not know what he had experienced in the Void, and he certainly will not tell me."

"What is the Void?" said Steve.

"When the bridge was broken, space and the universe ripped apart," said Thor. "A tear mutilated space and he fell into the chaotic state of Yggdrasil. It must have brought him to the Chitauri in one way or another."

"The Chitauri," said Natasha.

Thor nodded. Natasha stared down at her dark cup of thick coffee.

"I think they hurt him," said Natasha.

Thor's heart jumped to his throat. "How do you know?"

Even Clint looked perplexed at Natasha's sudden outburst. She set the coffee down on the counter and gave a heavy sigh.

"He sort of let it slip when I was trying to talk to him," said Natasha. "I suspect so, at least. They found him before he came to Earth. And they hurt him."

Thor dug his nails into his palm. It wasn't that he hadn't suspected it, but to hear that it was true, and to realize that it was Natasha who confirmed it from Loki instead of himself, made the news all the worse.

"And they dared to ruin him a second time?" he said.

"Thor, you're going to break my cup—ah, there it goes." Before Tony could finish that warning, the cup of coffee shattered in Thor's hand, spilling hot coffee over his fingers. Thor apologetically swept the shards into his hand and into the trash, the burning coffee putting a stopper on his impulsive fury.

"What are the odds that they'll come for a third?" said Clint. When Thor spun angrily toward him, Clint raised his hands as if in surrender. "I'm just being practical. If they were so intent on going out of their way to get him out of Asgard even after their business with him was supposedly done, they might be ready for strike three. Especially if you say that the Mind Gem or whatever Thanos wants is stuck in him."

"I am here to protect Loki, but that does not mean I will forsake your realm," said Thor.

"By the way," said Steve after taking a sip of his milk. "I was wondering...SHIELD said when you came to Earth that one time several years ago, you landed in New Mexico. But you ended up in Norway, instead. Do you choose where to go, or do you crash-land and hope it isn't an ocean?"

"I did not take us there," said Thor. "I do not understand the tears in space as much as Loki does. Loki knew the map, and I only took us there."

"Why'd he want to go to Earth, then?" said Steve. "Why not back home?"

"All of the tears and currents of the universe lead to Midgard, as it is in the center," said Thor. "Asgard is too far from Thanos's lair. The travel would have sucked us both dry if we tried. Midgard was the first and best choice."

He couldn't help but give a soft smile. "Norway was the first place in Midgard Loki had ever been to. He must have fond memories of it deep inside, if he remembers how to reach there and watch the lights."

"What sort of memories?" Natasha asked.

Thor ran a tired hand through his hair. He wondered if even he could remember them as clearly as they once played in his mind.

"Of better days," he said. "When nothing ever mattered."

_The Chitauri skin burned off Thor's body as he spun off of the abandoned moon, holding Loki's frail form to his chest. A howl rushed in his ears; he couldn't tell if it was the roar of space flying past him or if the Chitauri had caught sense of his ploy. It mattered not as the stars wrinkled in every direction around him and space folded within itself when the two brothers slashed through the universe. All Thor was certain of was that they were leaving the Chitauri behind, and he would do anything to keep Loki safe. _

_He pressed his hand against Loki's chest, trying to feel for his heartbeat in the midst of rushing space. He imagined he felt it, but Loki was so still against his side that his mind panicked. He gripped tighter on Mj__ölner as if the hammer could banish blindness. He didn't know how much time he had left; he lost the truth of time somewhere in the feigned decade he spent searching in the darkness. _

_There! There was Midgard. The force of the universe was shoving them toward the direction of the familiar realm. Thor wrapped his arms around Loki as their speed picked up. Loki did not wriggle or fight out of his grip, and while Thor was relieved by this, he was not comforted. The Loki he knew, even before his fall from the rainbow bridge, would only let his weakness be shown if he was on his deathbed. And perhaps he was._

_They broke through Midgard's invisible glass and shuttled toward the earth, gashing clouds and wind as they plummeted. Thor sharply turned so that his back faced the ground. He crashed onto the ground, falling trees and upsetting stone, absorbing as much of the blow as possible. His bones protested and his nerves screamed, but he ignored their cries. They were surrounded by splintered trees and overturned dirt, and Thor could only hope no mortal noticed._

_He sat up immediately and gently laid Loki down on the cold soil. Loki was as pale as death, dried blood coating the entire left side of his face and bruises marring his neck. His clothes were torn and his limbs thin and broken. Here in the shy light of dawn Thor could see too well the brokenness of his brother and he did everything to swallow his cry. _

_"Loki," he whispered. "Brother."_

_Loki's dulled eyes did not see Thor; Thor wasn't even sure if Loki recognized him. Immediately Thor reached into his pouch beneath his cloak and extracted the healing stones he had smuggled out of Asgard. He held the stone in his hand only to despair at the fact that he didn't know where to start. Wounds covered nearly every inch of Loki's body, all of them severe. He crushed the stones in his hand and applied them to the wounds on his head and back, sewing the heavy gashes until no blood escaped. Thor tried to save as much of the stones as he could to heal all of Loki's body, but by the time he used the last pebble only a third of Loki's wounds were closed. With the cold water from the nearby river, Thor wiped away the blood and grime. _

_"Stay with me, my friend, my brother," said Thor. He pulled his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over Loki. Loki's eyes were still unseeing, having yet to adjust to the soft light after so many ages in the dark. Thor wondered if Loki could hear him. "You will heal, and you will be safe. I will bring you back home."_

_He reached out a hand to wipe a smudge of blood still left on Loki's cheek. The moment his fingers grazed Loki, Loki jerked. His hand flew to Thor's wrist and gripped it tightly. Thor tried to pull back, perplexed, but Loki would not let go. His nails dug into Thor's skin as a look of recognition and vexation dawned upon Loki's face._

_"It is only me, Loki," said Thor. "It's your brother. It's your Thor."_

_Loki pushed Thor's hand away as if to say he had no such thing. He pulled away the cloak from his shivering body and tried to push himself onto his knees. His battered body could only collapse against the ground, stiff with pain. _

_"Please, Loki," said Thor. "Let me help you. You're safe. I want to help you heal. I want you well again."_

_Loki pressed shaking hands against his ears. He tried to move away but he hadn't the strength. Thor moved to place the blanket around Loki again and Loki flinched, staring at Thor without understanding. _

_"You're nowhere near the Chitauri anymore," said Thor. Loki lifted a hand from his ear; motivated, Thor continued. "You're far from them, and they can't reach you here. You're on Midgard. In Norway. You chose this place."_

_Loki turned his head slightly to look about him. The sleepy sun was just raising its head over the horizon, softening the lines of the rolling mountains and sharp trees. _

_"Don't you remember this place?" said Thor. "Father took us here once, when we were adolescents. It was your first time ever to Midgard, and how excited you were!"_

_Loki licked his thin lips nervously. He held his arms protectively, defenseless against the cold. Thor wrapped him in his cloak, ignoring the nip of the mountainous chill._

_"And the lights. Don't you recall the lights? You always questioned Father why Asgard had nothing like the dancing lights that Midgard had. He said that every realm had its own special beauty that made it so lovely."_

_Loki's eyes were filled with hurt and anger at the mention of Odin and Thor hesitated. He could see Loki shivering underneath his cloak from the frigid air, and how his eyes drooped with the worrying signs of hypothermia. Thor immediately pulled Loki close, warming him against his body. Loki was stiff in his arms, unwilling to yield and yet drawn to the heat of survival._

_"You will be whole again, Loki," said Thor. Loki's skin was icy at the touch and he held him closer. Even a Frost Giant could have too much of the cold, and the world be damned if Thor would let go of his brother. "You will be whole."_

_Thor hunted as soon as the sun reached the highest point in the sky, wandering through the woods until he sacrificed a muskox for its meat and fur. He fashioned a blanket for Loki out of its fur and carved the meat off its bones for food. Loki did not eat his share. When Thor tried to give him water, Loki could not swallow. _

_The second day, Loki showed no signs of healing, and was growing imminently weaker. Thor scoured the forest for Midgardian healing herbs, as primeval as they were compared to Asgardian cures. When he returned to Loki's side with sprigs of spruce, he found his brother dazed and free of the muskox's fur, tugging at his shirt as if in desperate need to rip it off. When Thor tried to approach him, he hid his face in his knees and quaked, long fingers digging into his dark hair, drowning in an invisible scream._

_On the third day, the wounds Thor had healed with the healing stone broke again and blood stained the pale ground. By the time Thor finished binding all of Loki's bleeding wounds, both their entire fronts were drenched in blood. Loki did not wake for another two days._

_On the sixth day, Loki grew incredibly ill. His skin burned at the touch and he could barely breathe. His eyes were wide and blind, hallucinating. Thor was panicking, at a loss of what to do to help. No herb calmed Loki's fever. No brew eased his pain. The last resort was the ancient hidden roots Thor knew of, buried deep within the soil. He ran as fast as he could, unable to pull away from Loki for so long._

_When he returned, his hands and face grubby and clutching the unearthed roots, he stopped dead in his tracks. Gray wolves leered among the trees, their dark eyes fixed on Loki, surrounding him. Thor immediately shouted to tear their attention away from his brother._

_"Stay away from the prince of Asgard," said Thor. "You harm him and you will pay."_

_The wolves were hungry and irate at the strange creatures that entered their domain. The leader of the pack raised its strong head to Thor and bared its teeth. Thor stood his ground, readying Mj__ölner. _

_There was no fear or even understanding of the situation in Loki's eyes. Only silent acceptance. Thor's heart clenched uncomfortably._

_"We bring you no harm," said Thor. "We only beg for the hospitality of your forest."_

_The leader of the wolves took a step forward toward Thor. It gave a short bark._

_"I am Thor Odinson of Asgard," said Thor in response. "My brother is Loki Odinson, and he is gravely injured and ill. I only take the fruits of your forest's labor to save his life."_

_The wolf turned to look at Loki. Loki closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the ground. His breath barely made wisps of cold at his bluing lips. The wolf gave Thor another bark._

_"I do not know what it is exactly that ails him after so long of torment," said Thor. "I can only hope that these can help." He held out the roots. The leader of the pack approached Thor carefully. It licked the dirt off of his fingers and from the root. Taking this as a sign of acceptance, Thor cautiously came closer to Loki. The other wolves hid in the trees again, still surrounding the brothers but keeping their distance as Thor carefully drew his cloak and fur tighter around Loki's body and felt for the fever; his skin still seared. He prepared a fire and a kettle of stone to boil the roots in. _

_When Thor turned back to Loki again after the roots were properly cleaned and stewed, he paused. All the wolves had come down to Loki and lay themselves about him, wrapping him around their warm bodies and shielding him from the cold. Loki's panicked heart alleviated and his bluing skin faded to its usual pale hue; for the first time in a long time, he looked as if he felt safe, at peace. As carefully as possible, Thor avoided stepping on the dozing wolves with the bowl of hot water and roots. He gently lifted Loki's chin and helped him drink the brew. Loki's eyes fluttered shut at the taste of the healing root and he relaxed, nestling deep in the gray fur around him._

_"Asgard and Yggdrasil have wronged you," Thor said softly as Loki was eased into slumber. "Let it be Midgard, then, that heals you."_


	9. Chapter 9

**This chapter was almost going to be longer, but then I decided to combine it with the next chapter instead. So, next chapter is going to be super lengthy, mehehehe. Not to mention you'll probably grow to hate a certain character even more in said chapter. **

**Accrediting time! So yes, last chapter, the wolves thing was actually inspired partly by the whole Fenrir mythology bit (although he doesn't exist in this particular universe, I can't help but allude to it. And who wouldn't want Loki to have an affiliation with wolves?!) and another by a hotel commercial. I know, the latter sounds absolutely outlandish, but if you search up 'shangri la hotel commercial wolves' or something of the like on YouTube, you'll see what I mean. I saw it in Hong Kong once and it gave me so many feels I gushed.**

**(Also, sorry for this unnecessary comment, but seriously. I fell in love with writing Tony. You guys will see about seven or so chapters from now. He's absolutely wonderful.)**

**Before anything else, can I say asldkfjal;ksdfja;fd?! Writers who I consider in my mind to be rather well-known Avengers fanfic writers are now following this story?! I am so, so honored and shocked. Seriously! An enormous thank you to every single person who reads this story, and a great big hug to those that take time to give me reviews. They seriously make me so happy and I just love publishing this story even more.**

* * *

Natasha woke with a jolt. She could hear her heartbeat against her pillow as her eyes slowly adjusted to the still young night. She dug her nails into the sheets underneath her. Yes, she could feel it. She could feel the soft cloth, the springy mattress, the smooth covers. This was reality. This was no dream.

She turned her head to face the alarm clock. One seventeen in the morning. She had only slept for a good hour and judging by the way her heart beat against her throat and the tingling of her skin, she wasn't going to fall asleep again anytime soon. She ruffled her cropped red hair, trying to shake the remnants of her dreams out of her head, before sitting up. It was very silent, rather disturbingly so, for a night in the city.

"Dammit," she said under her breath, leaning her head against the wall. She could still see the dream playing in her head and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that time would take its toll on her subconscious memory and run it thin until she could hardly remember it. She knew she wouldn't be so lucky. This was not the first time, nor will it be the last.

She didn't remember the faces, at least. The many faces that were the manifestation of her past festered in her dreams, reenacting memories she knew were too real. This time, she had killed a child again. She hadn't even hesitated in her dream, and deep inside she feared her subconscious had yet to let go of her assassin days.

Well, sleep wasn't going to be her best friend tonight. She dragged herself out of the bed and pulled on a hooded sweatshirt. Stark's name was stitched like a flag on the front and she rued the day she let him provide her free clothes. It was too difficult to pass up the offer of free things, though.

Water. She needed water. She could taste that sour aftertaste of a bad dream on the roof of her mouth and it made her cringe. She slipped out of her bedroom and felt her way through the hallway to the joint kitchen on the floor. Tony had dedicated an entire floor to the SHIELD agents assigned to Loki's stay, claiming he didn't need more SHIELD noses sticking around in more of his tower than he'd like. He offered Clint and Natasha a separate quarter, claiming that they were 'a bit more acceptable than the others' but they both declined.

She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured icy water into it from the fridge. The lights were off and she accidentally spilled half of it on the counter. She cursed under her breath and used a dishrag to wipe it aside. For an assassin, she didn't work quite as well in pitch black as others, but she refuse to turn on the lights. The last thing she needed was to switch on the lights and have something pop out in front of her like in a horror movie.

She sat on the counter, pensive, slowly sipping the water that numbed her tongue. Now she completely forgot what the faces and voices sounded like in her dream, but it didn't matter. She still remembered a child's form in front of her. She remembered pointing a handgun at that blond little head and pulling the trigger. She remembered feeling nothing as she walked past the body, and she shuddered.

They said the subconscious was more truthful than anything else, and yet she wanted to deny every bit of it. Was that even possible?

She was about to take another gulp of water when she paused. There was a dark figure outside the window on the outer deck. She froze, all memories of every horror movie involving the paranormal flooding her head (she refused to tell anyone, even Clint, that such movies freaked her out because ghosts weren't even _real, _for goodness' sake, what was there to be afraid of?), before the figure shifted slightly, its face barely illuminated by the glow of Stark's tower lights.

"Oh, it's you," she said to herself.

Loki was sitting on the edge of the outer deck, his face blank. Natasha remembered what Thor said about Loki jumping to his suicide attempt on Asgard and she hesitated. She certainly didn't pride herself in understanding Loki, as much as she was able to manipulate him for information; would he really have the same sentiments as he did back then?

Well, Thor wouldn't appreciate it if she just watched his little brother potentially jump to his second death. Sighing heavily, she pushed the glass of water aside and made her way to the door leading to the outer deck. He did not react when she stepped outside, walking towards him. It was chilly tonight and Natasha noticed Loki was only wearing a pair of dark pants and a thin button-down shirt, no doubt a hand-me-down from Tony.

"Aren't you cold or something?" she said.

She didn't expect any sort of answer and she was satisfied. Loki continued staring at the brightly lit skeleton of New York City, his face illuminated by its vibrant hues. She continued to stand behind him, her hands hidden in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. She began to regret not bringing at least a taser with her.

"I thought SHIELD agents were supposed to be guarding your room," she said.

Loki shot a sidelong glance at her that said, _You truly believe I can't outsmart that crowd?_

She shrugged. "Honestly, I'm surprised you were even able to move, considering your state."

Loki scowled and turned away from her. She gave a soft laugh at his bruised pride before stepping next to him. She stayed clear from the edge; even if he was powerless, it didn't take a master warrior to push someone off a building.

"Can't sleep again?" she said.

Loki raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.

"I sort of woke up in the middle of the night," she said. "That's all."

He shook his head.

"I'm serious," she said.

_You're lying, _said his eyes.

She clenched her teeth. It wasn't fair he had the inherent ability to be a living lie detector.

"What about you?" she said. "What brought you outside?"

He shrugged, returning his gaze to the streets of New York City. She crouched next to him.

"You aren't thinking of jumping, are you?" Sweet, straight, to the point. Very unlike herself. Of course, there was no reason to lie here.

A corner of his lips twitched. She wondered if she ought to feel worried. Somewhere, deep inside, she was.

Self-preservation, of course. She wouldn't want Thor guilt-tripping her for an eon and onward.

"I doubt you'd die, anyway," said Natasha. "If you already went through all this and are still fighting, I doubt a five-hundred or so feet drop would do much to you. You're frustratingly strong."

A wry smile flitted past his features before dissolving immediately.

"And I doubt you're out here stargazing, either," she said. "This is New York City. All the light pollution hides the stars from view. We'd be lucky if we saw a single constellation."

Loki grimaced, indisputably disapproving of humans and their polluting ways.

"We have our faults," said Natasha. "We do things we shouldn't do. But that's the same with any living creature. That doesn't make us any more inferior."

She sat down, letting her legs dangle over the edge. She could feel Loki's sidelong gaze on her face and kept her composure.

"See that over there?" She pointed to a little ways off in Manhattan. A small, warm glow emitted from the streets. "That's a monument for that one time you came to Earth."

He shot a skeptical glance at her, almost judgmental if she didn't know better.

"Not for us," she said. "There's definitely not a monument for the Avengers for that day. A lot of people died that day. That memorial is for them. To remember them."

He furrowed his eyebrows confusedly.

"We don't just commemorate soldiers," said Natasha. "We want to remember everyone. They shouldn't have died. They didn't deserve it."

Loki picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.

"The names of all the people are written on it," said Natasha. "They're all worth remembering."

He turned disbelievingly at her.

"Of course they are," said Natasha. "Just because they didn't fight in the war doesn't mean they aren't worth honoring. They were innocent people."

He made a face and shook his head. Natasha had the urge to slap him.

"Look, I know that you people on Asgard think that only the strong warriors who can bench press five hundred oxen are the ones worth remembering, but that's not how we do it here on Earth," she said. "Every human life is valuable. It meant something to a lot of others. That's just as powerful as fighting a war."

Loki tilted his head, genuinely perplexed. Natasha could only be thankful that Asgard's way was not the only way.

"There was this one show that Tony watches all the time," she said. "And the main character is this really powerful alien creature. Sort of like you. Except nicer, maybe."

He narrowed his eyes and Natasha couldn't help but chuckle.

"Just a little bit nicer. But he had a lot of power and could go anywhere he wanted. He lived for hundreds of years, but he always said that everyone he has ever met, every human and every creature, in his nine hundred years, was important. Was special. Not because of their fighting abilities, or what they can do, but who they are. What kind of person they could be for others and for themselves. If only you could realize that."

Loki took in a deep breath. Natasha leaned forward to catch sight of his face. His face was impassive.

"Do you even regret it at all?" she said.

He turned his gaze to her.

_Do you? _his green eyes said to her.

She bit the tip of her tongue.

_I do, _she thought. _I do. I don't know how to, but I do. _

She looked into his eyes and somehow she knew that he understood her thoughts, even without her saying anything. She swallowed and faced the cityscape.

"It doesn't matter how I feel or what I want," she said. "The dead are still dead."

He bowed his head as if in agreement.

"Why'd you do it?" she said.

He narrowed his eyes briefly.

"Thor mentioned you were trying to take revenge on him," said Natasha. "Of course, I'm sure you would be less than pleased to admit that Thor may understand you more than you want, so you'd say it was something else."

She thought she could see his eyebrow twitch with irritation.

"Do you really hate Earth?" she said.

His eyes said it all in his snarky glory.

_If I hated it, why would I intend to rule it?_

She shrugged. "Because you had nothing else to rule?"

She was so certain he would have hit her—hard—if she wasn't out of his reach. Before, he would be positively annoyed by her; here, he was enraged, but he bottled it in that lithe form of his until he was virtually shuddering in his bones from the pressure.

"You claimed you were born to be a king," said Natasha. "Thing is, you were acting more like a dictator than a king."

His eyes flashed. The shadows on his face sharpened.

"I'm probably saying all the things you don't want to hear, am I?" she said.

He gritted his teeth.

"Good," she said.

He did not move. She wondered what went through his head. Even when she outsmarted him, she could never understand him. She wondered if anyone could at all.

"Did you ever finish reading that book you stole from me?" she said.

He gave a quick smirk and nodded.

"Does O Mighty Loki approve?" she said.

He shrugged, feigning indifference.

"Not bad for mortal literature, right?" she said.

A small smile played on his lips.

"_Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon stage and then is heard no more,_" she quoted. "Not sure if immortal people like you understand."

He nodded.

_I do, _said his silence. _I do._

"Ambition's a dirty thing," she said.

He glanced at her as if to tell her he had caught on with her ploy a long time ago.

"Are you ever going to return that book to me?" said Natasha. "I actually was going to show them to Thor at one point. He was interested in Midgardian art, apparently."

She probably would have had more success if she didn't mention Thor. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

"I'll trade you another book," she said. "What about _The Tragedy of Julius Caesar_?' Or _Hamlet_? I think you'll enjoy those a lot. It's from the same writer."

The flicker of curiosity and desire passed his face and she knew she hit the jackpot. She wondered if all they needed to do to avoid the whole New York City disaster was to bribe Loki with books and goodies. Sometimes hindsight was less than desirable.

Before she could react, Loki suddenly climbed onto his feet, his eyes glued to something below them. He strode quickly to the edge of the deck a little ways off, close to the end of the railing. He bent down a little, leaning forward to look below them. Natasha narrowed her eyes, rising to her feet and following him. Was there a threat to Stark Tower? She was now berating herself for not bringing even a cell phone to contact the other SHIELD agents.

"What is it?" she said, leaning forward beside him.

It was Loki of all people, so she shouldn't have been surprised when she felt the hand shove her back. She shouldn't have been surprised when she reeled over the edge, losing her balance and starting to plunge to the sidewalk hundreds of feet below them.

She should, and certainly was, surprised when Loki's hand immediately caught hers before she fell over, her toes still caught on the edge of the deck, her heart nearly leaping out of her mouth.

She turned her head sharply, her pulse ramming against her skin as she swayed dangerously over certain death. Loki had one hand latched on the railing to keep him steady, his other linked to hers. His face was blank.

_Why? _she wanted to ask, but found herself too breathless to speak. _What for?_

_Are you scared? _asked his eyes. _Do you think I'll let go?_

She dangled threateningly, her toes barely keeping their grip on the edge of the floor. She felt his hand keep its iron-like grip on her, as if to mold his fingers to perfectly fit around her wrist.

"I know you won't let go," she said.

His face did not change. Nor did the grip on her hand tighten or loosen. He stared at her, threatening, demanding, questioning.

In a swift motion, she used the strength in her arm to pull herself up. With her other hand she grabbed the front of his shirt. Her weight jerked him down until he too hung hazardously over the edge. His grip on the rail strained, and she was sure his arms shaking. They were like suicidal characters from myths seen only in photographs and surreal art, clinging to life by only one pale hand.

"But if you do let go," she said, "I'm taking you down with me."

Their faces were mere inches apart. There was no satisfied smirk on his face, but there was an unquenchable fire in his emerald eyes, like a fire lit by a pyromaniac meant for destruction and wild amusement. She gripped the front of his shirt tighter until her nails grazed his chest, glaring up at him the entire time, daring him to make a move.

_I dare you, _she thought. _I'll show you. I dare you._

Slowly but surely, he pulled the both of them back onto the deck. Her heart rate returned to normal she felt the solid ground against the soles of her feet, as Loki pulled her close and away from the edge of the outer deck. They both backed away, his arm still around her, before they reached the steps. She pulled away, searching his face for an answer.

He studied her as well. A crooked smile graced his features for a moment.

She was almost certain she understood what he meant.

"I'm not afraid for my own life," she said. "Why would I?" She shoved her hands back into the front pocket of the sweatshirt. "I only fear the deaths of others. You already knew that."

He inclined his head slightly. _That I did, _said his silence.

Nothing, and then—

"Are you as crazy as you play to be?" she said.

He blinked once. Twice. Then he smiled.

_Only as crazy as you are, _said his still lips.

She wanted to punch him.

"You're exhausting," she said. She turned back to the tower and opened the door. The warmth of the sitting room beckoned her. She turned back.

"Are you coming in or not?" she said.

He shrugged, his hands behind his back, watching the muddied black sky.

"Agents are going to drag you in if they find you here," she said. "Or, you know, I'll inform them myself. They'll tighten up security and everything."

He didn't move from his spot.

"You're going to freeze if you stay out here," she said.

His shoulders shook in silent laughter.

She pressed her lips in frustration. Did this man have an ounce of self-preservation? She marched forward and took a firm grasp of his elbow. He jerked his arm, trying to pull away, but she held on tighter.

"I'm not having you trying to run away," she said. "You'll collapse before you're five steps away from this place even if you try."

Loki scowled but let her pull him inside. It didn't escape her senses when he stumbled in his steps. She gritted her teeth, wondering if she had to make up for his lack of self-preservation.

"I know, I know," she said. "I said you were frustratingly strong. Doesn't mean you heal fast, though."

She closed the door behind them, making sure to lock it tight. They stood silently in the sitting room, almost awkward to be truthful.

"Are you going to go back to your room on your own, or are you going to run off again?" she said.

He shrugged. She rolled her eyes.

"Your choice," she said. "But SHIELD will not be as lenient with you if they catch you walking around as I am."

He tilted his head curiously. Why, he asked.

"Because," she said. "I know you respect me in your own twisted way. And in my own twisted way, I trust you."

His eyes widened slightly and he raised his gaze to her, his lips slightly parted in question. She did not break his gaze; they remained so for a long time.

He smiled and bowed his head. Somehow, Natasha knew that telling this truth was inexplicably the right thing to say.

_You can't trust lies, _said her common sense.

_Well, _said her honesty. _Who's to say what's true and what's false?_

"Whatever you do, I'm off," she said. "Good night."

Without a glance back, she retreated into the corridor and slipped into her room. She shed the gauze remnant of his gaze from her back and moved to lock the door. Her hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment before letting it fall to her side.

"JARVIS?" she said quietly.

"_Yes, Ms. Romanoff?_"

"Is Loki still in the sitting room?"

"_Mr. Odinson appears to be absent from the room. Shall I search for him around the premise for you?_"

Her lips curled into an ironic smile.

"Nah," she said. "It's all right."

She crawled into bed and not long after, she fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Natasha found her copy of _The Tragedy of Macbeth _right outside her door.

The next morning, Loki found _Julius Caesar _at his.


	10. Chapter 10

**I'll have you all know that I am currently writing an essay for my freshman composition class and it is literally about my Loki feels. You think I am kidding but I am actually not. I see my life spiraling downward into the void already.**

**Also, I realized that when I write this, I picture Loki looking more like the Loki from 'Thor' than from 'Avengers.' Anyone else think that way or is it just me?! **

**As well as: MY DAD FOUND THIS STORY. ABORT MISSION. ABORT.**

**Warning: this chapter may or may not be more graphic than I am used to. I admit, I wasn't really cringing very much when I was writing chapter 3, but since the end of this chapter deals with certain personal fears I don't exactly like imagining, I was sort of icky when trying to write it. Depends on your personal preference, but I thought I might put the warning anyway just in case. **

**And you guys thought I was done with the flashbacks and angst.**

* * *

Tony was exhausted. No, he was more than exhausted_—_he was downright irritated.

God knows how many hours he and Bruce put into studying Loki and trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him, only to realize that he had no idea what to do about what the hell was wrong with him. The potential Gem stuck in Loki's chest was ninety-nine percent voodoo and one percent logic, and that wasn't enough to use science to make a difference. The energy he got from the wound was sporadic, unpredictable, with no understandable pattern to target, as if it had a mind on his own. Another reason why he preferred science over magic.

He turned from his many notebooks of equations and ideas to face Loki. Loki was now able to stand, or at least refused to sit in the wheelchair any longer. It didn't take a doctor to know that Loki was still too weak to hold his weight up for a long time, as much as he tried to deny it, so Tony thought it perfectly logical to place a chair every two feet throughout the tower. Loki took offense to that.

At least now he was somewhat content, reading that book of Shakespeare that appeared out of nowhere. A bored god of mischief was an annoying one. Even without his magic, Loki made it a goal to prove himself the nuisance mythology always played him out to be. One time, Tony left the room for five minutes—_five minutes—_only to come back and find his Iron Man suit completely colored in with purple and pink permanent markers. He never left Loki alone after that.

"So," he said, breaking the silence. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Loki didn't look up from his book. The shadows under his eyes from the lack of sleep were more than evident now; Tony was convinced they were permanently embedded in his skin. "Bruce tells me your arm is healing all right now."

Loki turned a page and continued reading. Son of a bitch.

"Except your internal organs are still a piece of shit," said Tony. "We can't tell much, because if we try to disturb anything we might hurt it more, but—well—that's going to take your godly powers or whatever to fix. Which may or may not come soon because this study is bamboozled."

If Tony could be honest with himself, he'd say that it looked like the Chitauri tore open Loki, ripped his guts out, played a couple games of baseball with it, and then stuffed it back in him like a very cheap rip-off of a Build-A-God Workshop session. A normal mortal would be dead somewhere around step two of that, so Tony doubted that any healing could be done unless he found a way to stem the If-Gem's vampire-esque effect.

Which made the fact that Loki was lounging around and reading Shakespearean tragedies while all of this was occurring in his body a lot more mind-boggling.

"Hey." Tony wheeled his chair in front of Loki. Loki looked at him from over the top of the book. "I need to ask you something."

Loki's eyebrows furrowed slightly and he lowered the book.

"I know you won't let Thor come anywhere near you," he said. At the mention of Thor, Loki narrowed his eyes. "But he's the one that actually understands this hocus pocus crap better than any of us can. He could tell us how to get rid of this thing in your chest without killing you in the process."

Loki set the book down on his lap but he wouldn't look at Tony.

"All you need to do is let him see that wound," said Tony. "You don't have to let him touch it. Bruce told him everything—"

Loki looked up immediately at the last sentence, anger etched in his face. Bad idea.

"He did it to help you. That's all," said Tony. "And that's what Thor would do too. Help you."

Loki shook his head. Tony swallowed down an exasperated sigh.

"Then, I'll just play Twenty Questions with you," said Tony. "We can't really get anywhere without knowing what it is. Just nod or shake your head. No one's going to be angry at you for answering my questions. No one's going to hurt you. No one's going to know."

Loki's green eyes flickered toward Tony skeptically. Tony matched his stare, honestly, raw.

"Did Thanos put that in your chest as another form of torture?" said Tony.

Loki set his jaw and he slowly nodded. Tony only realized how much trust Loki was putting on Tony at that particular moment, no matter how temporarily, to be so openly communicative.

"You…what happened when Bruce touched you that one time," said Tony. "Does that happen often? All the time? Or only when someone touches your chest?"

Loki jerked his head to the right, as if to say the latter. Tony winced.

"Who's voice is it that Bruce and you heard? The one saying…saying things about you. Was it that Thanos person? Is it a memory?"

Loki's eyes flickered to his hands and he shrugged a shoulder.

"I know you know," said Tony. "Was it Thanos?"

A nod.

"Only Thanos?"

He shook his head.

"More than one person?"

Nod.

"Is it a memory?"

No. Tony rubbed his chin.

"So—is it like a Palantir?"

Loki gave Tony such a look of confusion that Tony knew it was worth it.

"This tower seriously needs an epic movie marathon. Was Thanos saying those things…that very instant?"

A small tilt of the head. Tony rubbed his forehead vigorously.

"All right. Thanos. Memories—not memories. But a lot of others talking at the same time. Or maybe not saying it because they aren't here, technically."

He wondered how safe it was to drop the bomb now. Really, what was there to lose?

"Out of curiosity," he said, "does something called the Mind Gem ring a bell to you?"

Loki's eyes widened and Tony knew he hit the jackpot.

"That's what is in you, isn't it?" said Tony, leaning forward. "This Thanos person put that into your chest. What does it do? Does it—does it make you read minds? Subconscious?"

Loki gripped his knees, refusing to look at Tony. Tony took that as a yes.

"Shit, oh shit. Have you been reading my mind this whole time? Because if you tell Pepper, she won't let me live it down for a week?"

Loki gave a look at Tony that blatantly told him that he was an idiot.

"Wait, so you didn't? Does it only work if someone else is touching your wound? Because when you did, all it did was turn blue. It wasn't until Bruce came along that anything actually happened. You can't control its power, can you?"

Loki shook his head. Tony groaned and ruffled his own hair.

"Well, that's great. So, not only is it a hunk of magic, but a mind-reading one as well. And it happens to be feeding on your magic, if not your life. Why? Is it because it's alive? Powerful? Because magic is just that awesome?"

Loki raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"The only way to shut that Gem off in you is if all the minds in the entire universe just stopped thinking. Obviously that's not going to work," said Tony. "What happens if we would cut it out of you?"

A look of horror passed Loki's face and he sank deeper into his seat as if to try to disappear from view.

"Okay. Okay, bad idea. Forget I said that," said Tony. "But we wouldn't hurt you. You'd be asleep. You know, anesthesia and all that good stuff. You wouldn't even miss it—no?" Loki was shaking his head vigorously. "Is it because you're scared, or you know that's not going to work?"

Loki interlocked his fingers together as if to form a bridge with his hands.

"The gem is sort of latched onto you, so it can't be that easy," said Tony.

Loki tilted his head as if to say, _close enough_.

"I really, really hate magic," said Tony, resting his head in his hand.

Loki smirked.

"Oi, don't get so cocky. That very thing you flaunt is trying to kill you."

Loki gestured to Tony's suit in the corner of the room.

"That doesn't kill me," said Tony. "It can easily get me killed, but it doesn't kill me. This baby, though," he tapped his finger on his arc reactor. "This thing's keeping me from dying, actually, but it's also what _keeps _me dying. So I guess you can say it's comparable to your case, but I've twisted it to my advantage."

Loki tilted his head curiously.

"It's a long story," said Tony. "A piece of shrapnel's trying to shank me, this baby keeps it from doing so. Try and do any funny business with my arc reactor and I can guarantee that if I'm already keeled over drooling then Pepper's going to have a thing or two to say to you, bless her heart."

Loki chuckled silently. He leaned over toward Tony's desk and tugged at one of the physics books that Tony had piled on the corner. As Tony pulled up more studies of Loki's statistics on the screens around him, Loki thumbed through the book, his eyebrows furrowing. Tony nearly forgot Loki was in the room before he noticed out of the corner of his eyes Loki scribbling in the crisp book with an ink pen.

"Whoa, Lokster, what are you doing?" Tony said.

Loki's forehead creased at Tony's new nickname for him, but he ignored him nonetheless. Tony tore the book from Loki's hand.

"I paid for this shit. Only I'm allowed to vandalize it," he said. He looked down at the page. The book, which was once occupied with neatly printed calculus equations describing the physics of moving energy particles, was completely written over with a hazardously unrecognizable formula in Loki's hand, crossing out where an integration once was and completely overriding at least five steps of the mathematics.

"What are you doing, correcting the math?" said Tony. Loki shrugged. "Yeah, this book is pretty crappy, but it was pretty expensive for a piece of crap." He put the book aside and dug through his pile of notebooks for his calculations notes. He opened it and handed it to Loki. "I made some corrections as well. Dunno what you Shakespeareans consider math, but for Earth it's pretty accurate."

Loki peered at Tony's mathematical calculations, his eyebrows rising higher on his forehead as he gave small nods. When he raised his eyes to Tony, Tony was almost certain he saw a glint of impressed respect in them.

Well, who could blame the guy? He was Tony Stark after all.

"Maybe I'd make a good Asgardian mathematician, if those exist," said Tony.

Loki gave a half smile and handed back the notebook. He then proceeded to poke at the holographic screens, disrupting Tony's work.

"Whoa, whoa, hey, stop now. Bad Loki." Loki glared at Tony. "Here—" Tony drew up another blank screen and slid it to Loki. Loki's eyes widened with curiosity as he grazed his fingers upon it, pulling up numerous different windows. "Any questions, you can type the questions to JARVIS. You play. Uncle Tony works."

Loki wasn't even listening at this point, proceeding to explore the beauty of Paint. Satisfied, Tony turned back to his desk and continued his studies. If rendering everyone in the universe brain-dead to mute the Mind Gem wasn't going to work, he was going to have to think of a different plan of action fast.

* * *

"Tony?"

"I'm working, Pepper."

"TONY STARK!"

Tony immediately put down his work the moment Pepper burst into the room. He could have sworn her eyebrow was twitching with annoyance. He tried to remember if he had accidentally missed any important board meetings, or if another video of him drunk and streaking ended up on the internet, but frankly he wasn't one to remember either of those if they actually happened.

"I'm guessing I did something horribly wrong?" said Tony.

"What the heck did you do to JARVIS?" said Pepper.

"Er, nothing?" said Tony, sinking deeper into his chair as Pepper took a step forward.

"A likely story," she said. "So why is it that when I asked him to arrange your meeting with the head of Wayne Enterprises the only thing he did was sing Italian opera for ten minutes straight?"

"Wait…what?" said Tony.

"If you're trying to sneak out of more meetings, Tony, you could at least give me an excuse to pass along," said Pepper. "I can't tell the CEO you're reuniting with a long lost godfather in the Bermuda Triangle again."

"Then say I'm building dams in Laos," said Tony. "I promise you I have no idea what's going on. I don't even listen to opera."

"You're the only person who knows how to program and reset JARVIS," said Pepper.

"Damn straight I am," said Tony. "Wait, no, you're going to use that against me. I swear I didn't do anything different with JARVIS. JARVIS, back me up here, won't you? JARVIS?"

The sound of computer cogs whirring, before—

"Is that Gregorian chanting?" said Tony.

Lo and behold, JARVIS in his fashionable British accent had become a Middle Age monk singing in Latin in mere minutes. Tony didn't even _speak _Latin.

"JARVIS, snap out of it, buddy," said Tony. "JARVIS, give me a log of your past actions."

Nothing except for _Circumdederunt me gemitus mortis_ in full baritone. Whatever that meant.

"Do something about this, Mr. Stark," said Pepper, poking Tony hard on the side of his head. "Before he reaches the Baroque period."

"I didn't do it!" Tony said to Pepper's retreating back. When Pepper left the room without another word, he threw his hands up into the air and groaned.

"JARVIS, _shut up!_" he said as the Latin chant continued in high volume in the room. JARVIS didn't take the hint.

Tony was absolutely clueless; he definitely was not so inebriated in the past twenty-four hours that he would prank his future self with his AI, and his computers were definitely functional enough that he was using them right now to compose his studies. No one else really cared to use a computer in the tower, much less JARVIS. No one else would bother to change JARVIS' setting to a cast of Glee.

No one except—

Tony slowly turned to face Loki. Loki was curled in his chair again, reading _Julius Caesar_ innocently. The computer screen that Tony had so benevolently graced Loki with was discarded to the side, its history already properly erased and guiltless.

Tony wheeled his chair closer until he directly faced Loki. Loki turned a page and read on.

"Oh," he said. "It's on."

Behind Act III, Scene I, Loki grinned.

* * *

"You flip the pancake, Thor."

For someone who was impressively adept with a skull-crushing hammer, Thor certainly had no grace when it came to wielding a spatula. Natasha knew she shouldn't be one to talk; of all the skills she possessed, cooking was not one she would confidently brag about, but never had she seen someone struggle with cracking an egg minus the shells and whipping batter. Of course, this was Thor, and ever since over the phone Jane passingly mentioned her fondness for pancakes, he had abused about seven batches of batter.

"It is not as simple as you say, Agent Romanoff," said Thor, his forehead creasing in concentration. He shoved the spatula under the pancake, only to slice through the doughy middle. "The bottom of this cake of pans sticks stubbornly."

"Did you butter the pan?" said Natasha.

Thor looked up, a look of crestfallen realization on his face. Natasha sighed heavily.

"Oh, Thor," she said.

"You Midgardians have the strangest ideas for breaking fast," said Thor.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. Honestly, Thor wasn't that stupid. He learned how to use a cellphone quickly, and scoured history books of the Viking Ages with an impressive memory, but there was something about 'whisk butter and egg into flour' that apparently boggled Thor's mind.

"I do not wish to accidentally poison you," said Thor, "but would you possibly sample my cakes of pans when I perfect them, Agent Romanoff?"

It was extremely difficult to say no to that.

"Add chocolate chips on mine and we have a deal," she said.

Thor's face broke into a grin and he nodded. "As you wish, Agent Romanoff. I should ask the other Avengers if they too crave a taste."

"If it's free, Clint will be all for it," said Natasha. God knows how many awkward situations Clint got himself into because of the promise of free food.

"Do you think Loki would like some as well?" said Thor, attempting to flip the pancake another time.

"He's not really eating solids, says Bruce," said Natasha with a shrug. "Not that he eats a lot in the first place. Especially if it's cooked."

Thor pursed his lips but said nothing. Natasha glanced out the window of the kitchen, watching the ravens pass by.

"On Asgard, we have something somewhat similar to this," said Thor. "A flat bread-like substance for eating, except it is never sweet or soft. Rieska, we called it, like the mortals that knew of us ages ago."

"Was it tasty?" said Natasha.

"It was comforting," said Thor. "When we were young, we'd slather it with lingonberry jam. There was more jam than bread, the way we ate it."

Natasha smiled. There was always something comforting about listening to other people's carefree childhoods. Having none of her own, she sometimes tried to picture herself in their pasts, steal their memories and almost fantasize her own. But she knew better than to create a separate reality now.

"Loki liked his with honey best," said Thor. "I once told him that honey was a girl's treat and jested him about it. Sif heard me and gave me two lickings."

"Sif?" said Natasha.

"A dear friend of ours," said Thor. "She is a brave warrior of Asgard, and a loyal companion. She defied many traditions by becoming one of the Warriors Three."

Natasha gave a low whistle. "Good for her. Thor, your pancake is burning."

Thor jumped and quickly slid the browned pancake off the pan and onto a plate. He poked it tentatively with the spatula.

"Is it edible?" he said.

"It's not black yet, so probably," said Natasha. "How much batter do you have left?"

Thor turned back to his nearly full bowl of pale batter. Natasha snorted with laughter.

"Will you see if this is any better than the last?" Thor said, nudging the plate to Natasha.

The more she was going to have to hang around these Norse brothers, the softer she'll end up becoming. Nonetheless, Natasha took the plate and a fork and took a small bite of the pancake. Thor undoubtedly went overboard with the baking powder.

"Not bad," she said, swallowing the poison adeptly. "Might want to lay off the baking powder a bit, though."

"But Jane likes her pancakes very fluffy," said Thor, frowning.

Natasha laughed. "Well, then, make sure she uses a lot of maple syrup."

Thor opened his mouth to question when his eyes grazed the window. He stiffened immediately, his normally calm blue eyes sharpening. Natasha turned around to look out the window as well, spotting the ravens at the windowsill.

"They've been there for a while," said Natasha.

Which just now struck her odd, because weren't they several hundreds of feet off the ground?

"Huginn and Muninn," Thor muttered. He threw the spatula aside and hurried to the window. Bemused, Natasha turned off the oven and quickly followed him. Thor pushed open the window and removed the screen; unlike a normal pair of birds, these coal black ravens waited patiently on the sill.

"Thor, what's going on?" said Natasha.

"Huginn, Muninn," said Thor. "What news from the All-Father?"

If both ravens didn't bob their heads as if they were bobbing to Thor right on cue, Natasha was a three-eyed hippopotamus. But her eyes were far from deceiving her. One of the ravens spread its wings and gave a loud caw.

"All this time?" said Thor. "And yet you did not present yourselves to me until now."

"Thor?" said Natasha.

"Ah, my apologies, Agent Romanoff," said Thor. He gestured to the two ravens on the windowsill. "These are Huginn and Muninn, my father's eyes and ears on Midgard." He turned back to the birds, his face hardening. "What secrets does my father keep from me that you choose now to reveal yourselves?"

The raven on the right—Muninn—bristled its feathers and croaked. Thor's face softened into somberness.

"Loki is still unwell," he said. "But he is safe now. Safer than he has been in a long time. Was it so difficult for you to find us? Did you not seek Heimdall's aid?"

The other raven, Huginn, screeched an answer. Thor's face was troubled.

"I see," he said. "Two months is a worrying time indeed. I did not realize—I only knew ten years."

"What's he saying?" said Natasha.

"The decade I spent between Niflheim and Midgard was equivalent to two months," said Thor. "I did not exactly inform my mother and father where I went, so undoubtedly they were concerned."

Two months to ten years. Natasha couldn't help but let out a breath of relief. At least that did not mean that Loki spent more than a thousand years in torture with Thanos, probably twice his lifetime, but even then he would have underwent over nearly two centuries' worth of struggle, and surely that was a significant amount of time for even an immortal.

The raven squawked again. Thor shot a glare at it.

"It matters not what I meant about that," said Thor. "All that matters is that Loki is safe and alive with me, here, now. Do you ask for more?"

The two ravens exchanged looks before screeching at him. A small smile played on Thor's lips.

"Is that the request of your master, or of yourselves?"

A gentle crow. Sighing, Thor offered his strong arm to the birds. They obediently hopped onto his wrist, nudging each other to get the most desirable spot.

"Now, now," said Thor. "You're all going to the same place."

Natasha could only watch in utter bewilderment as the scene played before her. She could have sworn that she had just witnessed a Disney Princess moment in real life. She definitely never had a Disney movie marathon with Clint in one night because he insisted that 'there was this one princess person in the line-up who reminds me of you but crap I can't remember her name so let's just watch all of them,' of course.

"Where are you taking them?" said Natasha as Thor moved down the hallway with the two ravens.

"They want to see Loki," said Thor, pressing the button for the elevator. "And they will certainly peck me to death if I do not oblige."

So now Thor was being bullied by feathers. Well, two birds in a hand were worth many in a bush. Natasha followed, helping Thor push the button to Loki's floor. One of the ravens was staring intently at her, tilting its head from side to side to get a better look. She gawked back at it. It reached out and nibbled her sleeve.

"Did your father send them?" said Natasha.

"They always stay on Midgard to keep an eye on things, but the All-Father has specifically sent them to find us," said Thor. "They've been searching for months, they say. They have yet to return to give news to the All-Father."

She looked back at the ravens. They tilted their head in unison at her. They were oddly majestic, with sleek ebony feathers and powerful wings. She never had been very fond of ravens in her lifetime before, but—

"Hey!" She jerked her hand away. One of the ravens tried to snap its beak at her fingers.

"That one is Huginn," said Thor fondly. "He is Thought."

Natasha glared at the raven before digging her fingers into her pants pockets.

The elevator brought them to Loki's floor with a metallic ding of the bell. Thor knocked gently on the door to Loki's room before prying it open. The lights were on and Loki was sitting in a chair propped against the wall, perusing another classic that Natasha had lent to him. When Thor stepped into the room, Loki stiffened, his fingers tensing around the cover of the book.

"Brother, may I come in?" Thor said.

Natasha poked her head through the doorway as well. Loki's eyes flickered from Thor to Natasha, his jaw twitching in exasperation. He probably had half the mind to get out of his chair and slam the door on them himself until one of the ravens leapt off its perch of Thor's arm and flew to Loki's side. Loki's eyes widened at the sight of the familiar raven, his jaw dropped in shock.

"Huginn and Muninn were searching for us," said Thor. The other raven, Huginn, flew to Loki's other side, nipping at the ends of his dark locks affectionately. Loki hesitated before offering a long finger to the birds, stroking their dark heads. Muninn nibbled his fingertip and nuzzled his head in the crook of Loki's neck.

Natasha unconsciously took a step into the room. Who ever knew Loki was good with animals? She had to hide a smile at the sight of one of the most feared men in the universe being doted on by birds.

Huginn croaked, staring expectantly up into Loki's face. Loki opened his mouth before pausing and shrinking back, as silent as ever. Huginn cawed again, a little louder. Loki recoiled, clenching his teeth.

"Huginn, at ease," said Thor. He settled down on Loki's side, propped on his knees at the armrest. Huginn turned its head suspiciously at Thor. "Loki, he—he doesn't speak anymore. Please let him be."

Huginn and Muninn gawked at Loki with their beady eyes. Loki looked away and instead fixed his gaze questioningly at Natasha. Natasha wasn't sure if she was supposed to smile at him or participate in his staring contest. She chose the latter.

"Loki," said Thor. "Is it all right if…may Huginn and Muninn tell Mother and Father that you are—you are with me? That you are safe?"

Loki's gaze did not waver from Natasha, but she could see a fire light behind those green irises at his words. He moved as if to stand from his chair, upsetting the ravens from his wrist. They screeched and flapped their wings reproachfully as he pulled himself onto his shaking feet.

"Loki, what are you doing?" said Thor. Loki tried to make his way to the door, but he swayed and fell forward. Natasha moved forward immediately and caught him before he fell to the ground. He tried to fight his way out of her arms, sinking to his knees. Thor rushed to him immediately but Loki shied away from him.

"Loki, what's wrong?" said Thor

Loki brandished his arm, trying to swat away the ravens as they flew about his head in a frantic flurry. Huginn and Muninn cried out before settling out of Loki's reach on top of a high cabinet, their feathers bristled.

"It is only Huginn and Muninn," said Thor. "They won't hurt you. You know them. You've known them all your life. They would never hurt you."

Loki shook his head, turning his glare toward Thor instead. Thor faltered slightly before offering to help Loki onto his feet. Loki ignored Thor's offer and tried to push himself off of the floor and into a standing position. Natasha kept her hands at the ready in case Loki fell again, but he managed to crawl back onto his feet on his own.

"You don't…you don't want them to tell our parents at all?" Thor said.

Loki's gaze could have scorched Thor's eyes with all the fire beneath them.

"But this is Mother and Father," said Thor. "They care for you. They care for you so deeply and this news would only bring them joy and hope."

Loki grimaced and shoved Thor in the chest. It only made Loki stumble backwards from the force. Thor put his hands gently on Loki's shoulders; Loki wanted to pull them away but only rested his fingers on Thor's wrists.

"I think I understand what you may be feeling," said Thor. "I know that the last time you saw Mother and Father, it was when Thanos brought you to Asgard. I promise you, Brother, they love you with every fiber of their being and care so, so much about you."

Loki grinned—a sadistic, awful grin that sent shivers down Natasha's back. She thought she had been, for a moment, sent back three years to where she was standing in front of his glass cage, listening to him pour out her secrets and threaten her life with a slick purr. He began to laugh silently, collapsing onto Thor's chest as mocking mirth wracked his thin body. Thor held Loki tightly, his face drawn with confusion and worry.

Natasha felt her fists clench, but not out of anger toward Loki. Thanos had done his ploy well, she thought, if Loki so disbelieved his brother's words that he was set into fits of mute laughter.

"There was a time you trusted me. When you believed our parents and I when we told you we love you," said Thor as Loki gripped tightly on his shoulder while he tried to support himself as the painful laughter weakened him. "Not because of blood or because of actions, but because you are who you are and that was everything for us."

Loki's grin showed all his teeth, but Natasha was no fool. She saw how it hurt him to smile, as if turning his upturned lips tore hooks across his heart, and how the flicker in his eyes was not of humor but of something rawer, something fearful as if he couldn't believe his own eyes. As if he wanted to believe, but couldn't bring himself to it.

It jolted her to realize she didn't know to consider him foolish or wise for doubting love.

"Loki," she said, putting a firm hand on his shoulders. Loki did not acknowledge her. "Loki, did you know the moment Thanos took you away from Asgard the second time, Thor left home to search for you?"

Loki's breathing was ragged, or at least she imagined it would be so if she could hear him. His chest heaved and that sadistic smile on his face was frozen, void of emotion and meaning.

"He had your gatekeeper—Heimdall is his name, isn't it?—sneak him out of Asgard, to where Thor knew was unsafe and a low chance he would come back in one piece," she said, moved to speak when she could tell he was listening to her. Even Thor looked bemusedly in awe of her as she spoke. "He broke out of that rainbow bridge's path and spent ten years trying to get to you in that Void. You might have believed he had left you for years, but that isn't what actually happened. He was searching for you the entire time, trying to reach you. He wanted to save you the moment he found out you were hurting."

The broken grin slid off Loki's face and he backed away from Thor. His hands were shaking, but his face was unreadable, almost impassive. Natasha kept her composure, but inside she bristled, wondering if she had said something that might have triggered him. Thor gently shifted to look into Loki's face.

"Brother?" Thor said softly.

Loki's gaze snapped toward Thor. Anger—or was it fear?—blazed across his face and he scrambled away from Thor. He turned away from Natasha and Thor, clutching his arms protectively as he retreated to the corner of the room. Thor looked desperately at Natasha, at a loss of words or ideas.

"Loki," she said. "Is it that hard to believe?"

His shoulders hunched but he refused to look at them. She felt the urge to grab him by the shoulder and turn him so that he would face her, and then—then what? Repeat what she said? Slap him in the face? How was one to convince the silvertongue?

"We should give him some space," Natasha said quietly to Thor.

"I don't want to leave him," said Thor. "He's been alone for too long."

"If he needs you, he'll come to you," said Natasha.

Thor raised his arm slightly. Huginn and Muninn flew from their refuge on top of the cabinet and perched themselves on his large arm. He shook his head.

"That is what I worry about," he said. "I don't think he would."

* * *

Leave. Leave. What was taking them so long? Leave, and take those cruel lies with them.

He was shaking. He realized this. It wasn't cold. In fact, he was far from cold; he was burning, he was lit on fire, he was a star ready to die. He could feel it in his chest, in his throat, coursing through his arms. No, it was the lie that was killing him, scorching him from the inside out and eating away his heart. Thor's terrible, awful lie—when was it that Thor was the God of Lies and Loki nothing? Perhaps from the very beginning.

Love. Loki knew nothing about love. Love was the creation of sweet-tongued serpents whose teeth were slick with venom. Love was the last arrow in a quiver drawn tight at the bow just as battle has ended. Love was a lie, and so was he—so let the world banish the both of them and be done with this stupidity.

_Is it love that would send a man lost in space for ten years searching for his brother?_

_Is it love that would have a man forgive and forgive after each blow and snarl?_

It was not. That was not love, which remained dormant and sleepy for so long in their lives only to surge like a geyser when tragedy commenced. Loki would not be fooled; he knew the difference between then and now, then when Thor's arrogance blinded him from everything and now when Thor so foolishly believed that this _love _was applicable. No, he didn't love Loki. He only knew what horrors Loki could commit to him, to anyone, and tried to quench the flames before worse damage can be done. This was not love, but fear. This was feeding a beast a sweet morsel through protective bars. This was the basest and cruelest lie. He knew it from the beginning.

_So why does it hurt to think it?_

Weak. He was weak. His love was poison, was unreal, was impure. All that touched him turned to waste.

(Unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed)

Sad, blue eyes. He remembered seeing them in the dark, and now they singed his heart. He clutched his heart, trying to breathe steadily, forcing him to remind himself that Thor was lying, lying, lying because who would love the castoff Frost Giant traitor?

Worthless.

_Never doubt I love you._

He didn't remember who said that.

* * *

_"Is this truly the infamous silvertongue?"_

_Loki raised his head at the sound of the terrible voice. Chains bound his limbs to stone, blood dripping from his face in torrents. _

_"I expected someone more powerful," said the voice. Loki couldn't tell who it was in the dark. "Someone stronger, someone more formidable. It is no mystery why he failed. He is weak."_

_Loki gritted his teeth but kept his silence. He could taste and smell his own blood strangle him._

_The sharp toe of a pair of boots kicked his chin, snapping his neck to look up higher. Loki could see who it was now despite never having laid eyes on the creature. It was like experiencing a dream—a nightmare—and what he thought was recognizable and familiar in the dream was truly something he never saw in reality. It made his stomach full of nothing churn._

_"Leave us," said Thanos to the other Chitauri. The Chitauri bowed their heads and retreated into the shadows, leaving Loki alone with their master. Loki forced himself to swallow down his own blood. The metallic tang made his head spin._

_"I had expected quite a lot out of you when the Other first informed me of you," said Thanos. "The traitor prince of Asgard, cast off by his own family and people. The Frost Giant posing as AEsir, who tried to eliminate his own kind. I expected so much more from you."_

_Worthless. Useless. Pointless._

_"Inside, you knew you were different from your fellow Asgardians, didn't you?" Thanos said. His voice was soft, almost kind. The titan crouched down in front of Loki. Loki thought to shy away, but he was too petrified, and bones too tired to move. "Built differently, thought differently, fought differently…you never were truly part of anywhere."_

_The words were too raw in Loki's ears and he wished he could shut off his hearing. Too true. Too real._

_"You have a brother, don't you?" _

_Loki jerked at the mention of Thor. Thanos chuckled._

_"The golden prince, the strong protector, the trophy child. Yes, that is your brother indeed._

_"I too had a brother, Asgardian."_

_Loki froze. He tried to search for the lie in Thanos' words, but there was none. It made his innards wring._

_"I too had a brother, and I too knew myself different from my own people. I too destroyed my entire race. You and I flourished in similar pasts, built strong by the similar things that failed to kill us. Don't you see why I thought so highly of you?"_

_No. Not like Thanos. He did not want to be like Thanos. He closed his eyes, trying to will Thanos away, banish him from his mind._

_A heavy hand moved onto Loki's cheek and into his dark hair. Loki shuddered and felt sick. _

_"And yet," said Thanos, "you are the weakest, vilest, most insignificant bag of flesh and blood that was dragged into the universe. You jumped to your death when one slight failure marred you. You let mortals—ant-like, puny mortals—defeat your conquest. You let the Tesseract slip from your grubby and childish fingers."_

_Thanos' grip on Loki's hair was iron-tight. Loki willed himself to breathe in, breathe out. Breathe. _

_"I will not kill you," said Thanos. "No, I will not spare you the sweet presence of Death, for you are not a worthy gift to my lady. Even Death would spit you out." _

_His fingers pressed against Loki's temple and suddenly white light blinded his mind. He was suddenly whirling through memory, through truth. He saw hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at him, tearstained—mortal eyes he never looked into as he killed them on Midgard. He heard screams and cries and begging, the very sounds he deafened himself from as he fought high above the ground, far enough that he would not know those he killed. He saw the mourning of survivors, the grief, the fear, the very things he himself suffered through for ages. He saw the very souls he slaughtered—he, the monster of nightmares, the beast in stories, the fiend who let the fear of who he was possess him. _

_Loki didn't know he was screaming. Nor did he know that he was crying. All he knew, as he raised his manacled hands from the ground, was the excruciating pain and the indescribable blackness as he dug his nails into his eyes and pierced them, gouging them out, so desperate to witness his own guilt and crimes that it drove him into madness. His fingers and face were sticky and dirtied—he could not tell whether they were blood or tears. Could an eyeless face still weep? _

_It mattered not, for the memories still poured into him like liquid metal, taunting him, flogging his mind. Monster, monster, monster, he with a heart so black and dead it knew no mercy or love. Monster, whose only desire was to slaughter and gorge, whose meaning in life was nothing. _

_"So very weak," whispered Thanos' voice as Loki descended into nothingness._

_Even as his eyes returned to him a week later, Loki did not open his eyes for a long, long time._


	11. Chapter 11

**Whoa, this chapter turned out a lot longer than I thought...I am debating spacing out my chapter updates a little more because 1) I'm a jerkwad 2)I'm afraid of catching up with what I've written and then updates will be even MORE stretched out, and 3) I like unpredictability.**

**THE AMAZING WASIANGAL HAS MADE ME A LOVELY FANART! She drew the scene from several chapters back of Loki and the wolves and HERE IT IS PLEASE CHECK IT OUT BECAUSE IT'S SO GORGEOUS AND SHE IS AMAZING. hobbit-lassie .deviantart (dotcomslash) #/d5hy92x**

**Thank you all so much for continuing reading this story! Especially to those who review; kisses and shawarma for you! You guys make me love writing this story even more. **

**But anyway, STAY TUNED FOR NEXT CHAPTER in which the plot _finally_ starts rolling.**

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Loki's hands were pressed against the glass as he watched the streets below him. It amazed him, frankly, that he could see the outside world in all its bustling chaos and unpredictability and not hear a single sound of it. Tony was proud of that, claiming that his windows and walls were perfectly soundproof, but all Loki could think of as he pressed against that thin barrier between him and freedom was a cage. This tower, this _castle_ of sorts, was no different than imprisonment. He didn't know fresh air unless he swindled his way out in the dead of night, and even then he could only sit at the outer deck, letting his feet dangle over the edge, so high above the rest of the world that he might as well not be part of it.

Good, he reasoned. Good. It wasn't like he was part of Midgard anyway. No point in playing charades.

And yet, he felt his mind suffocate. He felt all the walls squeeze his body until his lungs sputtered for air. His skin felt too tight, his clothes too stiff, his room too daunting. He could hardly walk a hundred meters away from his door, whether it be because there was nowhere further he could go or because his legs refused to bring him further. He was a baby kept under watch, a disciplined child, a beast kept on a leash, and he wanted out.

He forced himself to turn away from the window, gritting his teeth. Why couldn't he heal faster? Ever since that—that _thing—_was sewn into his chest he could feel himself losing control over his own body. His magic spluttered and failed him and his body remained war-torn and unpredictably weak. He didn't want to continue leeching off the help of the Avengers—the _Avengers_ of all mortals—and yet he was stranded on their realm. Like a bird in a deep and narrow well.

"You look cheerful."

He turned his head to the door, his eyes narrowed. Of course, the balm to his suffering.

"I see you've given up the wheelchair completely," said Natasha.

Loki glanced at the discarded wheelchair in the corner of the room. It was a shameful invention, no different than a leash or a baby carriage.

Natasha opened the door wider as she stepped into his room. Loki eyed it hungrily.

"How have you been?" she said.

Why did she care?

"Looks like you're healing even without your magic," said Natasha. "That's a good sign."

Was this condescension? If so, he needed nothing of it. He needed nothing at all. Only to get out of this gilded cage and go—go anywhere.

Where, he did not know. Not anywhere on Midgard. Not Asgard, where there was nothing. Not any of the realms, or anywhere in between. He bit the tip of his tongue when he realized—he should have known—there really was nowhere to go.

All of a sudden the concept of leaving this cage was both enviable and painful. After he healed (_If_), then what? To Asgard, where he would be imprisoned again by the king and queen who so hated him now? Not to death; he was never so lucky. To return into Thanos' clutches so the insane titan could claim what was his?

The thought behind the latter made him nauseous.

Natasha sat on the edge of Loki's bed. Loki furrowed his eyebrows and poked her hard on the shoulder.

"I get to sit wherever I want," she said.

Loki couldn't help but smirk. She read him well, he thought both fondly and grudgingly. Perhaps if the rest of the universe was as sharp as she was he and practically every living creature he came across wouldn't be on such cross terms.

He poked her harder and she rolled her eyes. She patted the spot on the bed beside her and he turned away.

What was she doing here?

"Just to let you know," said Natasha, "Thor honored your request."

Loki frowned quizzically.

"He instructed the ravens not to tell your parents about you," said Natasha. "Not that either of us approve of that, but if you care so much about it…"

Loki blinked before looking away, a little surprised that Thor actually acquiesced. He never expected the crown prince Thor to disobey the All-Father, especially orders concerning Loki. Highly doubtful that it made a difference, though; what would the All-Father do with information about the ex-son he tossed aside?

"You finished with this?" She reached to the bedside table and picked up the copy of _Midsummer Night's Dream. _"You're inhaling these."

Loki frowned and took back the book. How did she confuse his perusing of books as breathing them into his lungs?

"It's slang," she said with a crooked smile.

Well, that made everything more understandable, didn't it?

"You remind me of Puck," said Natasha.

Loki turned to give an incredulous face at Natasha. Him, the famed trickster, the god of mischief, compared to that little pixie that ruined love lives and soured milk? That was degradation in itself.

"You do," said Natasha, noting his look of annoyance accurately. "Don't tell me you've never done something like he did before."

He rubbed his hands vigorously as if to conjure pixie dust and mimicked blowing it into her face. She snorted and waved her hand.

"You're a child," she said.

Everything is childish to you, he thought. Love is for children. I am a child. And yet, love is nothing to me. Don't you see the paradox in here, little spider?

She checked the time on the clock hanging on the wall. "I just wanted to make sure you haven't broken a window or anything yet. I need to go out and run some errands."

He frowned. She had broken into his peace, invaded his personal bubble, only to flit away in less than five minutes? Perhaps she was the true Robin Goodfellow who shattered the ennui only to disappear in a wisp of smoke, leaving him still thirsty.

She made her way toward the door and he watched her go. The yawing door made him ravenous—just one step closer to stepping away, breaking out of this paralysis. It was all he wanted; to walk on his own, go to wherever he pleased, not because he was trying to hide or run away but because he could. But he was a prisoner in the most literal sense; he had been nearly his entire life.

He didn't notice that he was following her out before she turned around to face him just as she was at the doorway. He stopped in his tracks, hesitantly stubborn. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Loki only pursed his lips and remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes grazed over to the window overlooking the city. He guiltily let his gaze follow, only to feel her attention revert sharply back to him.

"That's not part of the plan," she said.

Since when did anything go according to plan? The Norns jeered at plans, shredding them to make paper chains for their own pleasure.

"Besides," she said. "SHIELD definitely will not authorize it."

He should have expected it, but he felt crestfallen anyway. It must have shown on his face because Natasha groaned inwardly and shook her head.

"Both you and Thor have the most forlorn kicked puppy dog look," she said.

Loki brought it up a notch. Widen the eyes slightly, play with the eyebrows, part the lips in a sad sigh—he had perfected this long since his youth. Natasha put a hand to her forehead and gave an exasperated grunt.

"You know, if you collapse halfway out the door, I am definitely not helping you back," she said. "Come on then."

So the infamously apathetic Black Widow can be defeated after all. Loki hid a smirk as he followed her out of the door, keeping check that his stride remained steady and tall to prove her wrong. His knees shook but at least they did not crumple under his weight.

"You are going to be the death of everyone, including yourself," said Natasha. "And funny how out of all the situations I could have with you, the only time I say that to you is in sarcasm."

They rode the elevator to the first floor, both distracting themselves by watching the numbers flash above the door as they passed them. Loki stole a sidelong glance at Natasha. Granted, when he pictured finding a way out of this tower, she wasn't part of the equation. No matter; to be frank he wouldn't have the slightest idea of where to go if he was alone.

The moment they reached the first floor to the Stark Tower, SHIELD agents positioned at the front door armed themselves immediately. Loki hung back, his heart jumping when their weapons were pointed straight toward him. Natasha put a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Relax, boys, he's with me," said Natasha.

"The prisoner isn't authorized to leave the tower," one of the agents said.

A cold chill ran down Loki's spine. He always suspected he had little if not zero freedom at all in the tower, but to hear himself be labeled as a prisoner again made his nerves clench. He pictured the very agents before him disemboweling him or strangling him with his own spine and it took more of his strength than he was ready to admit to keep his composure.

She must have felt the tension under her fingers because she tightened her grip—almost reassuringly.

"He's not a threat," said Natasha. "Besides, his magic's partially capped. If he tried to do anything, he'd end up killing himself."

"Agent Romanoff—"

"I think I can handle him," she said in such a voice that struck the men dumb and obedient. They stepped aside, giving them passage through the glass doors. Loki couldn't help but be impressed by her sheer power. Here was this woman who hadn't any official title of authority to flaunt, twisting orders into her favor as if it was effortless.

He could feel the other agents' icy glares as he passed, however. He pretended he was impervious to their dagger eyes, despite the itching he felt inside of him as he was scrutinized. Her grip softened on his shoulder as they walked outside into the streets of New York City. The roar of the traffic and energetic buzz of the streets startled him and he stopped dead in his tracks. Natasha looked back toward him.

"Everything okay?" she said.

He nodded. (_The growling engine, the rising murmur of voices, it sounded like a war_)

"Follow me," said Natasha. "I know where to go."

He nodded and followed her down the sidewalk, his body stiff as he tried to wheedle his way past the crowd. He could still feel her hand on his sleeve and he let his mind sink into it, nestling into her warm palm and far from the outside unknown. He let his eyes wander—this city was far from the majesty of Asgard with its gray stone mountains for buildings and their metallic beasts that sputtered smoke instead of breath. People moved with no regard for each other, as if they were a singular moving animal minding their own business. Few lifted their eyes to say hello to the other, caught in their own little world despite being part of a grander scheme. Humans—he could never understand them.

"You never really walked the streets of New York City, did you?" said Natasha. "You sort of opted to fly above it. Well, it's pretty fine down here too."

She should see Asgard, thought Loki. She would swallow those words in an instant.

But the thought of that once-home made something in Loki hurt, so he banished the entire realm from his mind.

"Considered the most artistic city in the world, too. Or, at least, one of the top ones," said Natasha. She pointed to a street on their left. "Broadway Street. The epitome of performing arts. Musicals, plays, operas, everything. Ever seen one?"

He frowned slightly. The theatre arts weren't uncommon where he was from (not home), but he did not understand what a musical was. The gigantic billboards over the entrances were glowing with fantastical pictures and titles that boggled his mind.

"I feel like _Les Miserables _is up your alley," said Natasha. "Honestly, I don't know if you'd like comedies."

Loki raised an eyebrow at Natasha. Did she forget that he was the trickster god? It wasn't as if he didn't possess a single ounce of a sense of humor. She caught his look of skeptical incredulity and smirked.

"Well, you're going to have to prove it if you think you've got a funny bone," she said.

He rolled his eyes. Someday she ought to hear the story of when he tricked Thor into dressing like a bride in order to—

No. That was the past that involved a dead brother and a false prince. Those were mere fairy tales, nothing worth remembering anymore. Perhaps it was true; the mischievous prince was long dead.

They walked in silence; he knew she kept her pace slow because his walking was still shaky. He kept his eyes watching straight ahead, careful not to betray a single moment of weakness even though each step was tedious.

"Those are apartments," said Natasha when she noticed Loki peering up curiously at the tall brick buildings. "People live in there. They each have their own several rooms in that building. Since the city's so crowded, there isn't room for individual houses."

Humans were very, very odd.

He noticed a shop from the corner of his eyes and slowed his pace. There were animals at the window—small, furry animals pawing at their bars. Gentle puppies and kittens pacing back and forth in their cages. He frowned, tilting his head. Was it a menagerie of sorts? Maybe they had horses in there, or wolves.

"What are you looking at?" said Natasha.

Loki started moving toward the shop, only to feel a hand roughly pull him off the street. He stumbled back, bewildered, just before a rush of metal monsters rushed past him on the road. He froze, half-fallen on the curb as a stampede trampled past him. Did humans have absolutely no control over their beasts even in the city?

"You're going to get yourself killed," Natasha said through gritted teeth, pulling him back onto his feet. "Look both ways before you cross a street. Drivers here will not be afraid to hit you."

Mindless beasts roaming across a crowded Midgardian metropolis. Of course it made perfect sense to everyone except Loki. He brushed himself off immediately, feigning indifference, although his heart still pumped wildly in his chest. Just for good measure, though, he let himself steal glances right and left before crossing to the other side. Natasha tailed closely behind.

When he reached the shop, he bent down at the window, frowning at the animals in their cages. Was this a Midgardian version of a farm? He turned to shoot a confused glance at Natasha.

"Have you never heard of a pet shop before?" she said.

He shook his head.

"It's a place you buy pets," she deadpanned.

He straightened and crossed his arms stubbornly, waiting for a proper answer. She gave a crooked smile.

"You know, how people will buy an animal companion, like a horse or a hunting dog," she said. "Except people here don't usually buy pets to use them for another purpose. Mostly for pleasure."

He turned back to the window. A yellow-furred puppy caught sight of him and pressed his wee black nose through the bars of its cage. It strangely reminded Loki of Thor. He reached toward the door and pulled it open, wincing when he heard the ding of a bell overhead when he entered.

"Are you serious?" said Natasha. Laughter fringed her voice.

The store was kept uncannily pristine for a barn of animals. Yelps of puppies wrestling with each other and the disgruntled mews of kittens called out from every corner. Gaggles of children were crowded around a cage of small rodents (The sign read 'hamsters,' though there was nothing resembling swine whatsoever in them), cooing with delight. A young couple was holding a tiny puppy in their arms.

Loki suddenly realized how very small this shop was and he shrank back. Natasha poked him hard on his spine.

"Everything all right?"

He nodded. He wouldn't let this make a fool of him so easily. He let his gaze wander toward the cages of black kittens that looked particularly lonely. They shared a living space with other kittens with snow-dusted paws, but they crowded in a corner untouched. He lowered himself onto his knees to get a better view of them.

"Hello, dears!" A middle-aged woman with glasses nearly as large as her face came to them. Loki jumped slightly at her sudden appearance. Natasha patted his shoulder. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Just looking," said Natasha, crouching next to Loki. She saw how he eyed the kittens with remote interest. "Do you want to hold them?"

Loki gave a confused glance at Natasha. When he gave no answer, she shrugged and looked up to the shopkeeper.

"Do you mind if we see these kittens for a bit, please?" she said.

"Oh, sure, no problem. If we could have your driver's license, please?"

Natasha pursed her lip but pulled out her identification card (Natalie Rushman, it read) to give to the shopkeeper. In return, the shopkeeper reached into the cage and gently lifted two of the black kittens curled in the corner out of their nest. She handed one to Natasha and the other to Loki. Loki hunched his shoulders, wary of touching the delicate creature.

"Go ahead," said Natasha. She raised her eyebrows, her face saying, _I can at least trust you with kittens, can't I?_

Loki swallowed hard and offered his hands to the shopkeeper. The fluffy kitten was placed into his arms and he shuddered. He could feel the gentle, delicate skull against his hand and noticed how incredibly large his pale hands were in comparison to the tiny baby.

_(Oh, young child, how lucky you are.)_

He closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe. In and out, in and out. He could feel the kitten's breath against his fingers and kept his own in sync with it. It was alive. The creature he held in his hand was alive and well. It was all right.

_Mew. _He opened his eyes again, a little perplexed. The kitten was staring up at Loki with brilliant bright eyes. He lifted it closer to his face. There were no blemishes, no mutilations or imperfections, and his heart relaxed. It raised a paw and batted him on the nose. He drew back slightly, befuddled. Natasha laughed.

"Never knew you to be a cat lady," she said.

The cat clung to the front of his shirt with its minute claws, stretching until it climbed onto his shoulder. Loki bent down slightly so it wouldn't fall as it traversed across his sharp shoulder blades. He almost smiled when he felt its soft tail tickle his chin. It mewed into his ear and burrowed its dark face into the crook of his neck. It tickled him and he almost laughed.

He lifted it from his shirt and held it in his lap again, marveling at its small life. When he looked up, he realized that Natasha was watching him with a strange look in her eyes. Her own cat was curled up on her lap, sleeping. It probably didn't even notice her underneath it.

What is it?

She slowly smiled and shook her head, stroking the dozing kitten's head with a single finger. Loki craned his neck, trying to get her to look at him, but she avoided eye contact. He blinked, confused, and looked down at the cat.

_(Fortunate, fortunate child.)_

He lifted it again and this time put it in his head, onto his hair. The cat must have enjoyed that immensely as it burrowed itself into his dark hair, hiding in his short and soft locks like a rabbit in a meadow. He leaned a little closer to Natasha, as if to goad her to look up. She finally did, and when she saw the cat on his head she let out a laugh.

"I don't think you're supposed to do that," she said. She reached over and plucked the cat from his head. Its claws clung to his hair and she had to untangle strands from its paws. Loki pulled back, smoothing back his hair and reaching out for the kitten again. Natasha hesitated, scrutinizing Loki with unreadable eyes as she held both kittens close to her. He withdrew his hand, slightly indignant and slightly crestfallen.

"Maybe we should leave," she said, her eyebrows drawn in inexplicable wariness. She thanked the shopkeeper, traded the kittens back for her fake ID, and stepped out of the shop without even checking if Loki was following her. Rather fractious, he followed her out, unsure whether to feel offended or concerned. When he caught up with her on the streets, she wore her infamous face of apathy, her light gaze stabbing whatever was before her.

"I'm just going to buy the rest of the team some snacks and we'll go back," she said, her voice as chilled as the breeze. "Are you done?"

Loki did not indicate an answer. He could only wonder what exactly it was that he did wrong that demanded her unemotional approach to him. He reached out to grab her sleeve, to urge her to slow down because he could see the shadows closing in on the sides of his vision and his head spin, but something more than pride stopped him. He shoved his hands in the pocket of the jacket that Tony had bought for him, tailing Natasha through the crowd, wondering when he had become the follower.

They slipped into a bakery, the sugary air clouding their senses. Loki's eyes widened at the sight of all the strange, glazed desserts lined in the glass display case. There were several tables on the side of the bakery, two of them already taken. He wanted to sit down, but he refused to let himself cave into his weakness. He watched as Natasha stood before the counter, murmuring to the young cashier.

"Tony might like this blueberry one," she said, pointing to the Danish on the tray. "And Pepper probably would want the cheese Danish, actually."

The young cashier used metal tongs to put the designated desserts into a white paper box. Loki frowned, perplexed that common people could have so much access to sweets.

"Clint would like that pecan one," she said. "And Bruce should get that peach one. Maybe Thor would like this chocolate one."

Loki shook his head. Natasha caught sight of him and she raised her eyebrows.

"What?"

He narrowed his eyes. Did she really think he wouldn't know that Thor was less inclined to chocolate after nearly a thousand years of trading desserts with him as children? He pointed to the dessert with a thick strawberry glaze.

"You want that?" she said.

He shook his head, resisting rolling his eyes.

"Thor?" she said.

He nodded. She chewed the inside of her cheek before shrugging.

"All right. Give me the strawberry. And keep a chocolate for Steve. Oh, and a honey one, if you have room. Half a dozen."

The cashier nodded and carefully piled all the pastries into the box. She paid him the correct cash and took the box. Loki couldn't help but wonder that she seemed to have gone through a lot of trouble just to buy the team desserts. She went to a table in the corner of the bakery and sat down, kicking the chair opposite of her slightly to gesture to Loki. Loki hesitated before sitting down, wondering if her cold ambiance would crystallize this sweet atmosphere.

"I lost a bet, so I have to get everyone food," she said, opening the box.

Loki wondered what the bet was, but couldn't find it in him to try to ask.

"So does Thor not like chocolate or something?" she said.

He shrugged.

"Or does he detest strawberry and you're forcing it onto him?"

He gave her a scandalous look. Brother or not, he at least had knowledge of Thor's tendencies and tastes. For a mountain of a man, Thor was quite inclined to strawberries, especially when they came in the form of those flattened mortal tarts.

"That's kind of funny," said Natasha. She took a napkin and picked up the honey pastry. She handed it to Loki; Loki could only stare at it disconcertedly. "Thor said your favorite thing is honey. Was he right?"

Loki opened his mouth but gave no answer. Thor? He was surprised Thor even noticed Loki's eating habits in the midst of scarfing down lamb legs and rocks. Not counting nowadays; now Loki refused to eat anything cooked or anything meat, only taking the fruit and vegetables that Pepper gave him (the only one in the tower that never tried to kill him thus far). He had almost forgotten the taste of honey.

"Take it," said Natasha. "I got it for you."

Loki pursed his lips. His fingers twitched to obey and take it, but his mind was frantically pulling him back. He pictured himself spilling horrid truths and agonized lies just to fill his stomach. He pictured rot and grime coating his tongue. He could see Natasha's dark red head snapped off her neck and lying on the floor, light eyes gaping and teeth broken.

"Are you okay?" she said.

Loki didn't realize that he had shrunk back against his chair, trying to disappear. He nodded. Silent lies were strangely harder to give.

She scoffed. "Don't bother lying. This is me."

How can he be truthful to something so volatile?

"I can promise you that this isn't poisoned or anything," said Natasha. "Eating it won't hurt you."

_Yes, but you are humanity's greatest liar._

She held it closer toward him. He gripped the edge of the table. He could almost hear her neck crack and a scream tear from her throat. He swallowed hard and turned his head away.

"Loki," she said.

He stared at the square patterns on the floor. She pulled her chair closer to him. He stiffened immediately.

"Close your eyes," she said.

He clenched his jaw, uncertain. Her gaze was unwavering, so solid and strong that he closed them in the end, half because he didn't know how much longer he could take them.

"This isn't real," said her voice before him. "You're imagining this. This isn't real. You're only dreaming."

He felt her pull at his chin until his lips parted. He closed them immediately, almost out of fright. She tried again, this time a little more gently, and he relented.

"You aren't eating anything," she said. "No one knows what you taste, what you think, what you feel. They can't hurt you when they don't know anything."

_Nothing can hurt me, _he tried to think. _Nothing can hurt me. Nothing can hurt me._

"You know what you're about to taste," she said, "because you're dreaming all this. It isn't real. It can't hurt you."

He felt it upon his lips. The sweet honey. He let it fall upon his tongue, let his teeth sink into the flakes. He let himself taste. It tasted unrecognizable.

"That's good," she said. "Keep going. You're only thinking this is real. It's all in your head. It's all in your imagination. Nothing can hurt you."

She murmured this hypnosis until he let himself eat one third of the dessert before he couldn't take any more. When he opened his eyes again, the dessert had been safely hidden away and it was only Natasha before him, her blue eyes carefully watching him. He tried to smile at her, his lips still tinged with honey like a kiss. She handed him a napkin.

"All right?" she said.

He took the napkin and wiped his lips, nodding.

"I didn't realize—I miscalculated," she said.

He didn't understand what she meant. She shrugged, mostly to herself than to him, before closing the box and rising from her seat.

"Was it good?" she said. "You know. What you dreamed."

He cracked a smile and nodded. Honey here was strangely sweeter, but it was acceptable. He followed her out of the bakery, still wondering when exactly it was that she let herself look at him, whereas earlier she avoided eye contact with him.

"That's really the only errand I needed to run," she said as they waited for the traffic to clear. "That teaches me about making bets with Tony—where are you going?"

Loki had noticed something in the corner of his vision that strangely struck him. He made his way slowly towards it, slightly limping on the way. Unlike the jungle of buildings as the rest of the city was, he realized there was an opening spent for a tall granite block in a decorated platform, words engraved in it like a historical tablet. Before he could reach it, he felt her grab his sleeve.

"Don't," she said.

He looked back at her. Her eyes were stubbornly set on him. He tugged his arm away from her and continued. She opened her mouth to protest, but resolved to silence. He dragged himself closer to it, a strange shadow looming in his heart as he drew towards it.

He could see his thin reflection on the black stone, interrupted only by the words etched into the stone. There was a date at the very top of the stone, just a foot or two above his head, and columns of words trailing to the ground. They made no sense when he read them to himself, only for him to realize that they were all names.

"Loki," Natasha said. Her voice was quiet.

Pain grew in his heart, spreading through his veins like a plague. He slowly turned to face Natasha. Somehow he understood. With every name he read on the stone, he could hear their scream, their last words, their last breath. He could recognize each drop of their blood that stained his hands, and they were plentiful.

"Loki." But her voice trailed away. He swallowed hard and turned his gaze to the base of the memorial. There were many envelopes with names written on them with a shaky hand. A stuffed animal, a photo, and several carnations. He lowered himself to them, trailing a long finger upon one of the dying flowers. Where had they come from? Who would put them here, where there was no body, no honor, and full of memory?

"People put them here for their loved ones," said Natasha. "Grieving never ends, really."

He felt his mouth become very dry. This was neither a proper gravestone nor a monument to honor a singular person for their grand deeds, and yet someone—many someones—cared enough to place gifts and memory here. He didn't understand—no, he didn't believe that such love existed. How did humans, these brief mortals, possess such profound and uncommon love that they would care for the very least?

It couldn't exist. It shouldn't exist. For what love and honor is there except that which must be earned?

He wondered how painful it was when he was the one who brought the knife upon that love, that severed one from the others, leaving many in the wake of mourning. He wondered if such love made pain better or worse. Looking down at the letters, the words still left unsaid after so long, he could almost imagine.

He reached out a hand and traced an engraved name with his finger. He whispered it in his mind and tried to picture a face, a life, a voice. He imagined what someone would have written in an envelope for them, whether to confess love or to reminisce or just to speak to them again, talking of anything that would have been possible had it not been for death. He took in a breath and his heart stung. This, perhaps, was the human love.

He felt the next name, and the next, and the next. He wondered if their voices, whose screams he could recognize, could sing, could speak poetry, could laugh. He wondered if anyone still remembered them, after not hearing them for years. If laughter was perennial. Mortal lives, he understood, were unthinkably brief, but their memories took their entire reality, and was that not more scarring than in comparison to the entire universe?

Natasha didn't object when he moved down the column of names, slowly moving his finger through each letter, trying to understand. She stayed close to him, her fingers upon his shoulder, her face pale and wise. He moved in silence, swallowing down the sound of the dead's names on his tongue.

_Love is for children, _she once said.

Liar, he wished he could say. Liar. For if a child understood this, then they would have long grown old. Did she honestly believe that?

_Love is for children, _she once said.

Then children are broken and scarred and wiser than any old man that ever lived. For who could be truly hurt when there was no love?

_Never doubt I love you, _he once said.

His hand grew heavy with each new name that weighed upon his finger. If love was a lie, then truth was a lie. If love didn't exist, then neither shall he, for everything that did was nothing but pain and loss and he had tried too long.

Here was love, that its truest teacher was loss.

When he reached the last name, he realized that he couldn't stand anymore, and his body shook. He was afraid to breathe, and Natasha's hand upon his shoulder was the most comforting sensation he had felt in a long time. He felt both empty and bursting, numb and aware, wise and foolish. At peace and in grief.

In the end, she helped support him as they walked back home.

* * *

"Nat, you're back!"

Natasha flashed a quick smile to Clint as she slid the box of desserts across the kitchen counter. Clint caught it immediately and opened it, grinning when he caught sight of his pecan dessert.

"You're the best. Let me pay you back."

"Come on, I'm trying to make up for my bet against Stark," she said.

"He only cares if you paid for him, the rich bastard," said Clint.

"It was my pleasure. Go ahead, eat it," she said, pulling out a bar stool to sit on. Clint placed his dessert on a plate.

"Aren't you going to eat one?" he said.

"I don't really care for these kinds of sweets," she said.

Clint frowned and pointed at a half-eaten honey pastry. "What's that? Did they cheat you off your money?"

Natasha hesitated before shrugging. "That was Loki's."

Clint's bottom jaw twitched. "Didn't even finish it."

"That wasn't his fault," she said. "He ate as much as he could."

"Why'd you get him one?" said Clint. "I thought he was starving himself."

"Just because he only eats raw fruits and vegetables doesn't mean he's starving," said Natasha with a wry smile.

"Easy for you to say. Do you know how fast I went through the bacon pack in the fridge?" said Clint.

"You should have told me to pick you up some more," said Natasha.

"Nah, I'll do it myself," he said. "Wait, you went to see Loki today?"

"Well," said Natasha. "I sort of invited him to come out with me."

Clint's eyebrows furrowed and he leaned back against the counter. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" she said. "He wanted to take a walk, I said, why the hell not?"

"You know why the hell not," said Clint. "Last time he was loose in New York City, he killed hundreds of people."

_Last time I was loose and free, I assassinated anyone who stood in the way._

"Well, last time he wasn't exactly powerless or tortured," she said.

"I get it," said Clint, his voice a little rougher than usual. "I get it. He gets tortured, we feel compassionate, we give him a longer leash of sorts—"

"He is not on a leash," said Natasha.

"—but just because he took a couple rounds or whatever it was he went through doesn't mean he's a threat," said Clint. "Look, how do we know this—this whatever he had with the Chitauri didn't push him over the edge or something to the point that he could be much more unstable and dangerous than before? Don't people consider that?"

"If he wanted to kill everyone, he would have done it already, I would think," said Natasha.

Clint gritted his teeth. "Well, you did say he was powerless right now, didn't he?"

"He behaved perfectly fine," Natasha said. "I know. I was skeptical myself. But he did. And even if he didn't, it isn't like I haven't handled something like him before. Or that the world hasn't handled something like him before. He's got no allies, not even the Chitauri anymore, not Asgard, not anything. I don't think he's stupid enough to pull anything right now even if he really wanted to."

Clint rubbed his forehead. "So that's it? We have no idea what the hell's actually going on so we let him off the hook?"

"Clint," said Natasha. Clint sighed heavily and sank into a bar stool beside Natasha. Natasha put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her. "What's on your mind?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Clint. "I can't stand the sight of him. Every time I see him I remember how he stole my mind, and everyone else's, and used us to kill so many people. I remember all the nightmares I got because of it, how many people had to have funerals because of him, how many 'We deeply regret to inform you' letters sent to agents' families, all of that shit, and I just get so damn angry. But then I look him and I see that he's—he's not who he once was because now he's broken and silent and everything and I just get so damn confused."

He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. "I want to hate him. I want to not feel a single ounce of pity for him. But when I see him I can't help but think, goddammit, what happened to him? Did he deserve all that? No one deserves it, even though I don't have a clue what the hell is going on, it can't be any good. Then when I find myself feeling bad for him, I get angry at myself because this is the man that nearly destroyed the world, that caused so many people to die, and how can I call myself a SHIELD agent trying to protect the world when I'm having those kinds of sentiments? And then when that happens, I feel ashamed of myself because I'm so damn hateful that I can't find it in myself to help him. I'm in this perpetual state of self-disgust and confusion and I just—I just don't know how to feel."

He took in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. Natasha felt her heart ache at the sight of him and she tightened his grip on his shoulder.

"I understand, Clint," she said. "I do. I _do._"

"Then how are you able to take him out and talk to him and everything without feeling so confused?" he said. "If I tried that...if I even made myself stay in the same room as him, I don't know what I would do. I'm afraid I might try to kill him. I'm afraid I won't have any control over myself."

"You don't have to feel angry with yourself about this," said Natasha. "It's normal. It's—it's perfectly normal. But…" She swallowed and continued. "If we keep hating him, and trying nothing, nothing changes. But if we do something, then maybe—maybe we'll make something right. Maybe we'll fix something."

Maybe a little red can be wiped away.

"Is that what you're doing this for?" said Clint. "You think you owe the world a debt?"

Natasha tightened her lips into a thin line.

"No," she said. "I don't think so."

She didn't want it to be.

* * *

Her reflection was bare.

Her hair looked like blood, as if someone bashed her head in and let her own blood trickle down. As if she dived headfirst into carnage.

The faucet spat scalding hot water on her skin as she rubbed the soap between her fingers. She scoured her hands, trying to wash away the invisible grime that felt sticky upon her palm.

_Out, damned spot._

Suddenly, her skin felt too tight for her, as if moving too quickly or too sharply would tear it and her true, uglier self would be revealed. She swallowed hard, and her spit tasted bitter.

To think that Loki was only several floors above her, coexisting under the same roof. She didn't know how it made her feel. Especially after today.

He's a murderer, she tried to remind herself. He stabbed Coulson in the back just because he was in the way. He tried to kill Thor multiple times—his own brother. He threatened her death with a grin on his face.

She should hate him. She was supposed to hate him after all that he did. Hate was far more passionate, far more unconditional than love could ever be. There was no room in her for kindness to bastards like him.

She raised her eyes to the mirror. She thought she could see his bright eyes stare back at her and she gritted her teeth.

_He killed eighty people in two days, _she had thought when she watched him play with the small kittens in the shop, a smile on his lips.

_His mind is a bag full of cats, _she had thought when he closed his eyes, willingly and openly trusting her even when he had been so afraid just seconds earlier.

_He's a monster, _she had thought when he saw the raw hurt on his face as he read the names on the memorial.

She wondered that if she held his hand, she could feel his sorrow on his finger. If she could feel the names weigh down on her palm and let it sift between her fingers. Her hands itched.

_(She once had a scrapbook of all the obituaries and news articles of the people she killed, blaming her murders on plausible freak accidents and unfortunate events—Mistress would add a new article between the pages and with a pat on Natasha's small head she would say, 'Look, girls, how strong our Romanova is, how victorious she becomes,' and she would leaf through the book with a growing sense of pride and fascination._

_It's okay, Natasha, Clint once told her. You're sorry for what you did. Don't do this to yourself, Nat. Some things you can't change but that doesn't include the Now. It's okay. _

_She had never actually thought of the book before.)_

All of a sudden, she wished to delve into him. To sink into his heart, drown in his mind, understand him. Because he was now her greatest enigma she was dying to solve, a treasure map to the chest that she craved for. Knowledge—understanding—remorse.

You and I, Loki, she thought as her skin grew red under the water. You and I, we are mirror images of each other. We are the same bloodied hands, the same hungry eyes, the same shadowed past. But you are the human and I am the reflection—flattened, unreal, not wholly formed, whereas you are flushed and full of humanity, a complete circle. You are true, and I am a shadow of what a person ought to be.

She closed her eyes and dreamed of being whole.

* * *

Several days later, when Natasha noticed the memorial was lined with hundreds and hundreds of bouquets of undying asphodels and white dryads, she pretended that her eyes did not sting.


	12. Chapter 12

**Whoa, okay, so the thing I did not expect from the response of the last chapter was how many people asked that Loki get a pet kitten. Seriously, I expected people to be more inclined to the memorial scene than the kitty! ****Haha, to be quite honest, buying a kitty for Loki never registered in my mind to be a possibility, but now I am strongly considering it. See what you all have done to me?!**

**I admit, however, that since I've got a lot of the story planned and written out, I don't see any moment where I actually could give Loki a cat. If I end up deciding I will, there's a 70% chance that I would put a story of that on my Tumblr and not here. But we shall see how things turn out.**

**On a miscellaneous note, I was rereading parts of my novel I finished about five months ago and haven't touched since. I'm seriously wondering if I need to rethink my life choices because nearly every page of the latter half of the 271 pages of that thing was oozing with angst. (And on that note, I should mention that it took me about two years to write that thing. I'm on like, month 1 and a half of writing 'Syrgja' and it's already on page freaking page 261 what is going on with my life)**

**I have impeccable timing. And when I say impeccable I mean hilariously ironic. Next week is all my midterms, so there will be no Monday update—there will most likely be a Thursday update still. I am thinking that from here on out updates will generally be once per week, most likely on Mondays, with the occasional week where I update twice. Hopefully the way I ended this particular chapter won't make the wait too grueling… **

* * *

Loki was typing on the computer—he has gotten way too adept at using computers for an old-fashioned medieval prince from the ancient times. Steve still hasn't figured out how to turn off a cell phone yet.

Tony watched him precariously from the corner of his eyes, tapping at his own JARVIS screen. JARVIS hadn't stopped singing for a week (apparently Loki was bedridden the several days after Natasha took him on the field trip, he had plenty of time to perfect JARVIS' bug). It was hard to explain it to Pepper, who has seemed to have gotten very used to Loki's presence and was convinced that he was in no way responsible for such mischief. It wasn't until JARVIS reached modern times and wouldn't stop repeating Kidzbop music that she finally relented in scolding Loki. Loki found it all very amusing.

And Pepper thought _Tony _was obstructive when he was bored.

"If you're putting another virus into JARVIS again," said Tony, "I'll have you know I've been updating his security system by tenfold."

Loki smirked.

"You're taking that as a challenge, aren't you?" said Tony.

Loki nodded. Tony rubbed his hands together.

"Goodie. I wanted a game. You see what you can do with JARVIS, I'll fix it up before it lasts for five minutes."

Loki raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Starting now," said Tony.

Immediately all of the screens on Tony's computers had an animated pony running around the sides. When Tony tried to reach it, it avoided his finger and cursor. Scowling, with a couple of keystrokes, the horse was banished.

"Try again," said Tony.

Two minutes later, when Tony was leisurely checking his email, every time he tried to click an unopened email it would bring him to pictures of rusted iron. Tony snorted and pulled several strings, unraveling the coding until everything was back to normal.

"I used to do something similar to this when I was a kid," said Tony, typing in the correct coding. "You know, mind games. Educational mind games, anyway. That was the only sort of game my dad would play with me, if he ever had the time for me in the first place."

Loki glanced up briefly at Tony before manipulating the code. Suddenly, a cloud of countless other cursors appeared on Tony's screen, hiding his real mouse cursor from view as he tried to move out of the page. Tony squinted in concentration, trying to reach his page of code to find the error. JARVIS flashed a pop-up message of a security breach and he quickly ironed out the problem.

"He was obsessed with Steve," said Tony. "Apparently they knew each other back in the war or something. Well, when Steve went missing, all that my old man ever did was look for him. Even when I was born and growing up, he didn't really consider me. Always expected me to be as perfect as Steve, and honestly I didn't live up to his standard. Can't say I really understood him. Or vice versa."

Loki was watching him curiously, but wasn't so taken yet as to stop JARVIS from changing everything into Old Norse. Tony groaned; even the coding wasn't in English anymore. He wheedled a computer translator on JARVIS to chisel his way through the ancient language.

"So Point Break tells me that you and your old man aren't on good terms either," said Tony.

Loki's gaze sharpened and he looked away.

"Come on. It's understandable. Your relationship with him broke, you don't feel any connection to him anymore—yeah. I get it. I do."

Loki pursed his lips. Out of nowhere, JARVIS started reciting Shakespeare. Tony muted JARVIS, unfazed.

"Now, maybe my dad didn't keep a huge secret from me, but I sort of feel like I can relate to you. He made you feel overshadowed. Less than best. As if he didn't love you enough, if at all. You feel like—like you don't think he wanted you because he wanted to love another son, but for some other purpose."

Loki's hands lowered, his stony gaze upon Tony. Tony stared challengingly back.

"I'm not trying to hit a nerve," said Tony. "I just wanted to let you know that—well—look." He hastily debugged JARVIS so that the Shakespearean soliloquy came to an end. "I'm no sort of advice-giving genie at all. In fact, I don't do this kind of stuff. But I heard your story—or at least, Thor's story about you—and I can't help but just think, damn, if certain little things went right, if little details were changed, what if everything was different? What if instead of throwing me out the window, we could have been buddies in some really weird way? Because, quite honestly—" Infinite pop-up windows blossomed across his screen and Tony had to slam his fist against his keyboard in order to fix it. "You're an interesting guy. Or at least, you seem like one."

Loki hunched his shoulders, unsure whether to welcome these words or to bar them from him with a high stone wall. Tony couldn't help but not blame him. After all, Loki _did _throw him out the window instead of being chummy with him, and they technically were sworn enemies had it not been for this unthinkable situation. But Tony knew he wasn't talking like this to Loki now because of that self-proclaimed debt he owed Thor. He said it because it was the truth, more or less, and even the god of lies deserved to hear it.

"I don't really care who or what you are, honestly," said Tony. "And I don't really give a rat's ass about what your dad thinks about you, or more accurately, what you think your dad thinks of you, because that doesn't actually make you. You don't have to let it change you. And actually, who you are—really are—you know, you're all right. You're all right, Loki."

Without warning, all of the computer systems shut off. Tony's screen flickered and disappeared; all the computers around him faded to black. Startled, Tony turned back to Loki, expecting a grin of triumph. There was nothing but a pale face of uneasiness, green round eyes disbelieving.

Maybe he said something wrong. Well, shit.

"Hey," said Tony. He wheeled his chair closer to Loki. An emotionally unstable Norse god was already hard enough to deal with; a potentially broken one was way off Tony's charts of ability. He was the one responsible for fixing the hunk of rock in Loki's chest, after all, and nothing more. "I mean it. If you were really all that bad, I don't doubt you'd still be able to throw me out the window without your magic. Or anyone else in here, really. But, well, you aren't. You're better than you think you are."

Loki swallowed, his eyes still fixed on an invisible point, before he stood up abruptly. He walked past Tony, not even glancing at him, heading toward the door to leave the room. Just before leaving, he rapped his knuckles on one of the blank computer screens, as if to say, _You lose, _before disappearing through the door.

Tony stared at the shut door, wondering if he ought to at least get a gold star for trying. But a part of him was crestfallen, something he hardly acknowledged. The time he was honest—earnest, even—he doubted Loki even believed him.

"JARVIS," he said, only to remember Loki had shut him off. When Tony tried to turn JARVIS back on again, all that he got was static.

"Well," said Tony, leaning back in his chair. "Son of a gun might have just killed my butler."

* * *

Thor was exhausted in both mind and body, and even though he had been trying to catch up on sleep ever since he came to live in Stark's tower, he couldn't find rest within him. He spent endless nights tossing and turning, worrying about Loki's state, eventually going to Loki's room to make sure his brother was safe and healthy, only to have something blunt and heavy thrown at his head.

"Why do you even bother?" Clint once asked him when Thor emerged from Loki's room, a red gash across his forehead from where a lamp grazed him. Thor only shook his head and tried against an hour later, or maybe a day later.

But his patience was wearing thin as much as his worry multiplied. Loki never locked his room; he had no problem demanding his privacy should he want it, but when Thor knocked on the door and wriggled the handle, he found it stubbornly immobile. He tried to keep himself from concluding the worst, but his nerves were already far on edge.

"Loki, open this door, please," Thor said, knocking a little louder. Thor knew Loki was in the room; he wasn't that dull as people liked to think him. "I want to speak with you."

Tony had found Thor in the gym not too long ago, passingly mentioning that he 'kinda sorta might have said something to Loki that looked like it sent him flying off the edge.' Thor set off immediately to find Loki, only to find his little brother locked in his own room, silent, unyielding. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what it was that Tony said to Loki ("I didn't mean to be offensive at all, I swear. Stop glaring at me like that.") but while he knew Loki took others' words quite seriously, few would send him running away.

"Loki," Thor said, his voice growing stern. He knew he could break the door down if he truly had to, but he desperately wished it would not come to that. "Loki, please. I want to help you. I _will _help you. But you must let me."

Still nothing. Thor gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on the doorknob. Why couldn't Loki just let him in? Did he think Thor would attack him? Yell at him? Was there no trust for his older brother that he feared him?

When there was a silence that lasted five minutes, Thor finally slammed against the door. It didn't stand a chance against him and flew open, barely hanging on its hinges. Loki was in the corner of the room, huddled near the window. The moment he saw Thor his face was drawn with pure anger and he curled his hands into fists.

"Loki, enough of this," said Thor. "Locking your doors will not keep your monsters away."

Loki reached over and made to grab the alarm clock off the table near him, but Thor strode over and blocked Loki's hand before it could make it.

"You cannot push me away anymore like this," said Thor. "You have evaded me for so long, but I cannot keep myself away just because you refuse to even look at me. Why is this, Brother? Do you not believe I want to help you?"

Loki wrenched his hand away from Thor's and stood from his seat, pacing beside the window. Thor could see the fury in Loki draw his face taut.

"Why do you shut yourself away?" said Thor. "Why do you bolt your doors? Stark thinks it is his fault, but he has not tried to hurt you."

Loki set his glare toward the window, refusing to make eye contact with Thor. As much as Thor wanted to help Loki, his frustration was beginning to surge. Nothing he did seemed to do any good, no matter how hard he tried or how much he did, and he didn't know what to do anymore. Loki refused his help even though Thor knew Loki needed _something, _so why couldn't it just be him?

"Will you not give my friends and me a chance?" said Thor. "A chance to help, a chance to understand?"

_I don't need you, _said Loki's burning glower. _I don't need any of you. I don't want to be here. I don't want—_

"You refuse them?" said Thor. "Banner and Stark are working endlessly to find a way to keep the Mind Gem from festering on your life. Will you let your pride deny that? The people in this household strive to protect you and keep you healthy. But you won't even let me see you. Will you not see that you are safe here?"

He stepped closer to Loki. Loki stiffened as Thor advanced toward him, raising his arms slightly. Thor didn't know if he felt exasperated or anxious anymore. He was so tired and all he wanted was for the world to just _stop. _

"What is it that Stark said that upset you so?" said Thor. "Stark says he never meant to anger you or hurt you in any way. What is it that he said to you? Did he say something you took offense to?"

Loki neither confirmed nor denied it, opting only to burn Thor with his eyes.

"Was it triggering to your fears? Was it a lie?" said Thor. "Did he tell you a lie?"

Somehow, those words made Loki snap. He struck Thor in the chest, a fuming grimace upon his face. Utterly confused and indignant, Thor gripped Loki's wrists tightly, almost as iron as the handcuff on Loki's one hand, to keep him from hitting him any further.

"Stop this!" said Thor. "You're being as brutish as a Frost Giant!"

The words had slipped from Thor's lips before his mind could catch up, and the moment he spoke the common Asgardian insult he felt his own blood chill as if he was the very beast he spoke of. Loki's eyes widened and he stopped moving immediately, his lips parted in shock. Thor instantly hated himself, catching his folly far too late.

"Loki," he said, his voice shaking. "Loki—brother—that was absolutely horrid of me."

His heart shattered at the sight of Loki's face. Loki looked absolutely betrayed, his wide eyes gleaming with broken anger. He immediately wrenched his hands away from Thor's.

"Loki," Thor said, his voice thick. "Oh, Loki, I did not mean that. I meant nothing of that. Please, Loki—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Loki shook his head, putting a hand to the side of his head as if it spun. He swallowed the blow of words until it soured in his stomach. Thor reached out for him again but Loki dodged him, rushing out the door. He slammed the door shut behind him, nearly shattering the doorframe.

His brother's name still on his lips, Thor flew forward, wrenching the door open to try to catch Loki, but Loki was already gone from the hallway.

"JARVIS," said Thor, breathless. "JARVIS, where is my brother? Show me where my brother is."

_Why did I say that? _Thor thought. _How could I say that, how dare I say that? What was I thinking?_

The look on Loki's face when he heard still haunted his mind, and his heart grew so heavy it sank to his soles.

_"Your request was overridden, Mr. Odinson. My deepest apologies," _said the voice from the ceiling.

"Overridden?" said Thor. He shook his head. He didn't need a computer to help him find Loki. He hurried down the hall, yelling for his brother, yelling because he knew, he knew, _he knew—_it was the last straw.

_(He remembered how as Odin put Loki on trial, while Loki was given a chance to speak and all of Asgard's nobles tried to protest loudly to overcrowd the sound of his voice, how Loki did not scream. He did not shout or spit or snarl like they expected him. But he raised his cold, hateful eyes to Odin and spoke calmly and clearly._

_"You punish me," Loki said, "for starting a war on Midgard. You disown me for the murder of mortals. You lock me away for attempting subjugation of their realm." _

_He raised his head higher, his jaw trembling with fury._

_"But was it not you and your forefathers who stole the life source of the Frost Giants from Jotunheim? Who crippled their throne and people until they were reduced to live like the savages you always thought them to be? Who claimed that this was for the good of the lowly, uncivilized Frost Giants and for all the Nine Realms? And you—who were renowned for such?"_

_Thor felt his heart clench at Loki's far too true words. Beware the God of Lies who spoke of the truth. _

_"What is the difference?" said Loki, his voice empty of doubt. "You think the Frost Giants less valuable of life and more deserving of imprisonment under your thumb. Why is it, All-Father? Why?"_

_The crowd protested and jeered, cursing the Frost Giants and mocking Loki for not knowing this. They did not understand the tears that welled in their king's one eye or the sobs muffled behind their queen's hand. They did not notice their golden prince's shouts to shut up, shut up the whole lot of you, because he was afraid of the truth. _

_When Loki received no answer, none but the drowns of the audience, he closed his eyes—a tear disappeared behind those lids—and Thor did not hear him speak since then)_

Loki, don't listen to me, he thought. I was wrong, I am wrong, I am the thoughtless one. I am as foolish and brutish as Thor, and that is the most imprudent anyone can be. Please, brother, please—

He felt as if he had just killed something, or someone. Perhaps he had.

* * *

A fist flying against the temple of the SHIELD agent was enough to completely knock the senses out of him, but Loki didn't pay enough attention to check. All he wanted was out. Out of the tower, out of the realm, out of sight, out of sound.

He didn't know where his feet were taking him, so long as it was far away. He didn't know how many times he nearly got hit by traffic or cyclists as he ran away, having not heard their horns or screeches. All he could hear was Thor's voice, Thor's words, Thor.

They shouldn't hurt because they were true.

They shouldn't hurt because they never did before, when he and Thor were children and jeering at each other in games by comparing each other as such creatures.

They shouldn't hurt because he was a Frost Giant.

So why did he feel like he was ripped apart when Thor said this to him?

He clenched his fists, breathing heavily, trying to keep everything that raged inside of him bottled in his heart. Jotun, Jotun, Jotun—just the name of hie being sounded savage, coarse, _awful_. It was inevitable. It was given. It was _understandable. _Even Loki hated himself even more for it, so why should he expect different from anyone else, much less Thor?

He ran away, far from everyone else until he saw less and less faces. This was a concrete jungle, a labyrinth built of horrid sounds and the growls and screeches of metal machines. A perfect environment for a beast. He ran from his shadow that trickled after his ankles like oil stains on the pavement. If only the real monster wasn't already inside of him.

His hands were cold, and blue veins pressed against his white skin. If he was in his Jotun form (_his true form, his real skin, this is the disguise_) would Thor still claim he loved him? Or would he kill him, just as he had promised so long ago? There was no place for monsters in brotherhood. Nowhere—they belonged nowhere.

Thor was right, Loki thought. Thor was right—what Stark said earlier was a lie. The mortal's confession that had shaken him so much with incredulity just an hour or so ago was now a crushing windstorm.

He had processed it—he tried to understand it.

He had tried to understand why Stark said those words, _meant _those words—afraid that he did not understand them the way Stark meant.

But—

There was no separating himself from the monster, not the monster of Jotunheim, not the monster of his past, not the monster of his heart. No, Stark did not understand. He did not mean those words.

_We told you, didn't we? _

_Nothing but a worthless monster. _

Something stung inside Loki and he collapsed against a wall, clutching his chest. He didn't know if it was because he upset his still fragile body or if he just couldn't take it anymore. When he finally caught his breath, he pushed himself up to stand taller on his shaking legs. He looked around at the many brick walls that surrounded him, the quiet streets and cluttered alleyways. This was nowhere he had ever seen before. Blinking confusedly, he tried to retrace his steps, but everywhere looked exactly the same—the towering buildings, the vehicles lined against the sidewalk, the grubby gutters—he couldn't even see Stark Tower from here.

He limped faster, trying to find some sort of familiarity. Soulless faces passed him, but he couldn't bring himself to look at them, much less ask for directions in his mute state. The hurt he had felt gave way to the panic as he realized that he was utterly lost and very far from home.

No, not home. Stark Tower.

It was cold, and he shivered in the thin jacket he wore. He felt eyes cling to him as he wandered aimlessly through the streets, trying to read the signs on the street corners without an inkling of what they meant. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his fear under pressure. He had been without direction or home many times before—he would not let this scare him.

_(Once, in their youth, Thor fought with Loki that upset Loki so much, he ran off into the woods, only to be swallowed whole by the shadows and irrevocably lost. He wandered for hours, crying because he could not understand, and by the time the search party found him half a day later Loki was bloodied and bruised, even more afraid of the nightmares in the shadows than any punishment or wild beast he could come face to face with. "Why didn't you call out?" they asked. "Why didn't you say something?" He had wanted to say, why didn't you listen?)_

He wanted to go home. To Asgard—no, to Stark Tower—no, to the security of his own mind—no. He would find a home, somewhere where no one could touch or speak to him. A pigeon, an empty journal, a patterned scarf, a mirror—not a mirror, a mirror was too difficult. A pigeon, an empty journal, a patterned scarf, a sharp knife, anywhere, anything at all.

"Well, look who wandered too far from home."

Loki looked up immediately, his heart jumping into his throat. He spun around, trying to find that all too familiar voice. This side of town was full of silence, people passing by as if they heard nothing. He rubbed his chest, wondering if the Mind Gem's power had multiplied.

"We ought to punish the mongrel for running away from home."

Only then did Loki realize that all those humans were staring at him. He felt his heart stop in his chest and understood that he was backed into an alleyway, no right or left to run into.

"Our master wants his pet back, after all."

The one speaking—an unusually tall man with a leering face, suddenly ripped in front of Loki. His skin stretched and tore as the Chitauri's shape-shifting abilities faded from its grotesque body. Immediately, all the others alongside it tore off their human façade, towering over Loki until shadows completely covered him. There must have been about twenty of them before him at the mouth of the alleyway, their rifles poised in their ready hands, their eyes indescribably hungry.

Loki backed into the wall, his entire body trembling. There was nothing for him—no magic, no sword, not even a loose brick to throw. He was completely empty-handed and very, very alone.

He could feel the Mind Gem against his heart hum with sadistic excitement.

"And why would we ever want to refuse our master?" said the Chitauri leader.

Like a scourge sent from a wrathful deity, the Chitauri swarmed him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Not many of you were very fond of the cliffhanger of the last chapter, huh? Haha, let's just put it this way. My general writing style is that I usually DON'T use cliffhangers at the end of the chapter, with the events occurring in the chapter more or less finishing by the end. This story is the exception.**

**But heyyy, I updated a day earlier than I said I would, right?! **

**Also, does anyone know anything about Viking/Old Norse culture? Personally I'd like to implement it in the story, but I don't even know where to start research.**

**I may have accidentally looked at major spoilers for Thor 2, and if they're true then I FREAKING CALLED IT GUYS (don't worry, I don't imply that I _wrote _about it, per se, but I definitely thought about it...) and I better finish up this story before that movie comes out but FREAKING HECK MAN ARE THOSE SPOILERS LEGIT BECAUSE IF THEY ARE THEN /KEYSMASH.**

* * *

Steve had fewer responsibilities in his day than he was used to. Truthfully, he was more than willing to take on a normal job and work for his own living, but SHIELD thought it their responsibility to mollycoddle him through the rest of the twenty-first century and provide him lots of punching bags and pop culture reeducation to busy him.

Nothing he was actually used to, having worked who knew how many jobs just to stay afloat back in the day. He couldn't help but feel uncomfortably unproductive as he stayed in the tower while Tony was busy discovering fifty other new elements, Natasha and Clint were fulfilling their duties, Bruce was off somewhere saving lives, and hell, even Thor seemed to be getting work done despite not even being a remote part of Earth's society. A man like Steve could only punch through so many punching bags before he started questioning his life choices.

Which was why Steve was going through all the hallways with a vacuum cleaner, tidying every inch of carpet he could find in Stark Tower. Tony had guffawed when Steve told him his plan, saying that Dummy had any sort of cleaning already covered (even though it was Dummy that made the smoothie maker explode in the first place not too long ago), but easily conceded to Steve's request for cleaning supplies, throwing in a frilly apron from God knows what into the mix. Steve had been at it for a good three hours, vacuuming and dusting every inch and making sure the place was spic and span to prove to Tony that he could at least do one thing better than a robot.

However, when he saw Thor exit from the nearest elevator, the look of pure unease settling on his features, Steve powered down the vacuum cleaner and dropped the antibacterial wipes. He wiped his forehead, approaching Thor concernedly.

"Thor?" he said. "What's the matter? Are you looking for something?"

"Loki," said Thor. He shook with pure worry. "Loki, have you—have you seen him? Did he pass through here?"

Steve shook his head. "I was in the kitchen the whole time, wiping down everything. What's the matter? Isn't he usually in his room?"

Truth be told, Steve kept a wide berth between him and Loki. He wasn't afraid of Loki in the slightest, especially after hearing Thor's story of their past and being uncannily reminded of himself, but he knew from perhaps too much experience that trying to talk to other people, especially if said other person was emotionally unstable and probably despised his guts, was not a skill he particularly possessed. If Steve remembered correctly, the last time he had one-on-one contact with Loki was when he kicked the god of mischief in the face at Stuttgart, after all.

"He—we—" Thor swallowed and rubbed his forehead. "I hurt him, and he ran away. Now I do not know where he is, and I'm afraid that he—I don't know if—"

"What happened?" said Steve.

"I was a fool," said Thor, burying his face in his hands. "I was a fool, an arrogant fool, and now I don't know where he is. I'm afraid if he'll hurt someone—or hurt himself—"

"Calm down, Thor," Steve said. "Okay—Loki—you say he's uh, he's upset. What does he do when he's upset? Where does he seek comfort?"

"If only I knew now," Thor said. "It was once me or Mother. Now, he has no comfort."

"Did you try JARVIS?" said Steve.

"Loki has tampered with Stark's butler so that he will not reveal his whereabouts," said Thor. "I do not even know if he is still in the tower. He's still weak—he will only hurt himself more if he leaves and it will be my fault. Why was I so foolish?"

Steve pushed aside the curious urge to ask Thor what he said to Loki. More important matters were at hand. "I can tell the rest of the people in the tower. SHIELD agents, Tony, everyone. We can all work together to bring him back."

"What if SHIELD thinks he has escaped out of spite?" said Thor. "They will treat him roughly, and he does not deserve it."

"We'll give them a heads up or something," said Steve. "Thor, do you mind if I—never mind, that's really nosy of me. I shouldn't ask."

"You mean to know what it is I did to offend Loki?" said Thor. Steve nodded guiltily. "I…I do not mind if you ask, Captain. If anything, everyone should know how foolish I can be. I was frustrated with Loki and told him—I told him he was as brutish as a Frost Giant. I never thought—we use such a comment countless times in Asgard, as we have such a low regard of Frost Giants for most of our lives, that I had not properly weighed its meaning when I said it today."

Thor leaned against the wall. "I thought I had changed. I thought I had a turn of heart and that I would accept Frost Giants just as I would accept AEsir and mortals…but I know that deep inside, a part of me still remembers the resentment I once had for their race. My judgment and disapproval of them, and now it is bleeding into Loki. What if my banishment never actually changed me, only my surface? What if—what if my subconscious hates Loki just because of what race he is? If I were to face any Frost Giant besides Loki, I know I would not embrace them as easily as I do any other creature, and it hurts me to realize this. If I can't accept the other Jotuns, Loki will not think my love legitimate. And perhaps—perhaps he has the right to think so."

The look on Thor's face was so confused and heartbroken that Steve felt his heart sink.

"Thor," said Steve. "It's—I know what you mean. Before I woke up, I didn't really ever hate the Germans or the Japanese, not like other people did, but I had this idea that they were extremely different, and that I ought to be wary of them and stay away from them. And then I'm here and everything's changed and I ought to lose that mentality but…but it's hard. I really understand. It doesn't mean you'll keep thinking that way forever. You get to know them and you understand that they're more than what you thought they were. And after a while you—"

But Steve faltered when he notice the look on Thor's face. He could tell Thor was not listening to him, because he froze and his eyes hardened, wide with suspicion. He turned his head sharply to the window, the graying clouds looming over the tower.

"Thor?" said Steve.

"Do you hear them, Captain?" said Thor. "The engines?"

Steve frowned, straining to listen. For a moment he thought he could only hear his own pulse in his ears, but then he realized it was far from his imagination. There was a strumming of power, almost like the Tesseract except rougher, crueler. He peered out the window, trying to find something amiss in the city.

"What is it?" said Steve, pressing a hand against the glass.

Something shivered. The universe hazed for a fraction of a second. A flash of light in the corner of his eyes and then it was gone.

"The Chitauri," Thor said. His voice was grave. "They're here."

Steve's heart skipped a beat.

"In New York City?" he said.

Thor nodded. He immediately moved down the hall.

"What are they doing back here?" said Steve, chasing after Thor.

"They must know Loki is here," said Thor. "They must have come for him."

"Thor, we need a plan of action!" said Steve. The Chitauri—here again! How many? How did they get here? There were too many unknowns.

"Please contact the man of Iron and the SHIELD agents," said Thor, swiftly fetching Mjölner from his room. "I can sense their presence as clear as day. They are on the west, almost beyond my senses. There are many—please, we must hurry."

"What are you doing?" said Steve as Thor began to spin Mjölner at breakneck speed at his hands.

"I shall protect my brother," said Thor.

Without a second of hesitation, he shot forward, shattering through the windows, shooting through the sky to the west.

* * *

The moment the Chitauri took a step forward toward Loki, many of them already raised their rifles and pulled the trigger. A volley of burning bullets whizzed past him and he had to dive to the ground to avoid their blow. He searched wildly for a piece of broken glass, a rock, anything to use. A rubbish can knocked over to its side was just out of reach; he rolled towards it, barely missing a well-aimed shot, before pulling the trash lid from the ground.

The moment a Chitauri warrior came close to him, holding its rifle aloft, Loki slammed the edge of the lid against its groin. It doubled over in pain just enough for Loki to whack the lid against its chin until he could hear its neck crack. He wrestled the rifle out of its grip before it even fell to the ground.

A jet of blue power from the others' rifles skidded past him, skimming his makeshift shield. It left the smell of melting metal. Gritting his teeth, he used it to bash in the head of the nearest Chitauri before it could touch him, giving it a satisfying stab with the bayonet before he let it fall.

A shot hit his leg and sent a shock of searing pain through his muscle. He swallowed a groan and stood upon it nonetheless. Another skimmed his side. He lifted the rifle he took from his foe and launched its power at the crowd. Two guards fell, two more took their place.

"You wish to dance, Asgardian?" said the leader. He laughed, sending chills down Loki's spine. "We will make you do so much more with yourself—"

The sentence snapped in half as Loki aimed a shot at the leader's shoulder. It jerked back from the impact, its wound smoking dangerously. It sneered, cocking its rifle.

"You will regret ever trying to escape," said the leader. "Who was it that helped you? You are too weak, too cowardly to bring your punishment to an end. Who was your savior, fallen prince?"

Loki clamped his mouth shut and shot again. He dived behind a row of trashcans just as a torrent of shots flew toward him. His leg was still smoking from the shot wound and was reluctant to support his weight.

"You play the part of the noble soldier, Frost Giant!" said the leader. "But you are nothing but a sniveling coward, depending on a mortal realm to shield you. Was it Earth's gaggle of heroes that saved you? Did they take pity on the worthless runt? Perhaps once we're through with you, we'll pay them thanks ourselves!"

Unquenchable anger soared in Loki at those words. In a swift motion, he leapt out of his refuge, triggering a cascade of shots at the nearing army. Many Chitauri fell immediately from his attack as he stepped forward, aiming at perfect targets.

Unspeakable pain suddenly shot through his abdomen and he fell to the ground, gasping for breath. He tried to push himself back onto his feet before a knife sliced through his shoulder, paralyzing him with agony. He raised his head, his eyes blurring in pain as he saw the leader step closer, rifle aimed directly at his heart.

"You will learn discipline," said the leader.

Before the Chitauri could take a step closer, the clouds suddenly flashed overhead. The Chitauri did not notice, but Loki felt a rush of emotion flow through his nerves. His hands curled into fists as the lightning danced over his head, illuminated his bloodstained body as he braced himself for the inevitable.

Thunder split the sky apart and a flash of pure white light struck the ground between Loki and the Chitauri. The impact sent the Chitauri flying back, some of them seared on the spot from the power. Loki could barely keep his head raised as he saw the all too familiar figure fall to the ground, hammer held aloft and ready to strike. Thor emerged from his own destruction, his face lined with fury. Loki didn't know if he felt relieved or angry at the sight of him.

"You will suffer for what you have done to my brother," said Thor, raising his blond head. His knuckles whitened as he strengthened his grip on his hammer's handle.

The leader of the Chitauri laughed. "The golden prince of Asgard, having mercy for the traitorous outcast of Jotunheim."

"No," said Thor. "The firstborn of Asgard, come to protect his brother in arms, life, and heart."

"And you're doing a marvelous job at that," said the leader.

Thor swung Mjölner forward, the heavy stone crushing the skulls of many Chitauri through its path. Every movement he made was powered with vehemence and Loki couldn't help but watch in pure shock.

Why did he come?

_(isn't it obvious?_)

Why did he care?

_(Are you so blind?)_

He felt the dagger in his shoulder shift and wrench out painfully. He choked down a cry as a metallic pair of hands pulled him off the ground.

"Don't want to get stepped on, Reindeer Games," said the man of Iron. Loki could only stare incredulously at Tony, completely clueless of why he, and for that matter Thor, was here at all.

"Yup, yup, your knight in shining armor," said Tony, as if they were discussing the weather while Thor was battling aliens behind them. "Steve ought to be here any minute, the poor guy can't fly worth a damn—oh, crap!"

A jet of light flew between them, a Chitauri's aim barely missing them. Loki, ignoring the pain coursing through his entire body, took a hold of the rifle he dropped as one of the warriors ran forth. Before the warrior could even touch Loki or Tony, Loki ran the bayonet through its chest, killing it immediately. With a strong swing of the arm, he dragged the body on the rifle and flung it back into the crowd, knocking down two warriors in its way. They barely had time to collect themselves before Loki shot them right between their eyes and they dropped like toppling stones.

"Well, shit," said Tony. "I guess I'm not needed here."

He sent a jet of power from his glove into the crowd, knocking down several Chitauri at once. Even with their combined power the Chitauri seemed to multiply, bursting out of their human disguise to attack.

A spangled shield flew out from who knew where, bowling over a handful of Chitauri before zooming back to its owner. Loki gritted his teeth; how many people tagged along just to battle alien invaders?

A blast sent Loki falling back; Thor skidded to his side, his cloak singed and soot covering half his face. Loki felt his breath hitch at the sight of his brother who was gathering himself back onto his feet, even more riled up to fight back. Before Thor could run forward, Loki grabbed his shoulders tightly, trying to hold him back and forcing him to look into his face.

_Why are you doing this? _Loki wanted to ask. As much as he tried to speak, his voice had withered into nothing and he could only gasp. _They'll kill you. They'll kill all of you for being here. They just want me. Isn't that what the realms want, is me gone? They'll kill you._

Thor's eyes were gleaming with determination. He clasped his hand on the back of Loki's neck; Loki could feel the blood stick to his skin.

"I swore to protect you, brother," said Thor. "And if by my life or death I can, I shall."

Loki gritted his teeth. Idiot. Naïve, impulsive idiot.

A spurt of fire streamed past his head, nearly scalding his neck. Immediately, Thor pushed Loki behind him, swinging Mjölner against the nearest foes. Loki wanted to throttle Thor until he could hear however little common sense he had in his head rattle against his skull. The thought was immediately banished when a Chitauri soldier hurled a slick knife at Thor, piercing him in the leg. With a pull of a trigger, the soldier was dead in less than a second afterward.

"Where the hell are they all coming from?" said Tony between spurts of his fire. "I thought they were light years away from here!"

"Let's ask that question a little later!" said Steve over the din. He wrestled a soldier off of his back and slammed it against the wall. Before he could deliver the finishing blow, its entire body jerked back a flyaway arrow pierced its side. Steve looked up, bewildered, just as a bullet shot through its cheek and the soldier moved no more.

"Natasha?" he called out, baffled. "_Clint_?"

Loki felt his jaw drop as he saw the all too familiar assassins in the clearing. They were possibly the very last people Loki would ever expect to come to his aid, and yet here they were, shooting the Chitauri with vengeance.

"Yeah, thanks for inviting us, Cap," Natasha said before punching a Chitauri in the chin so hard that it flew back.

"What are you doing here?" said Steve. "You were supposed to stay back in Stark Tower."

"Our duty is to defend the Earth from crazy bastards, so this is part of the job description," said Clint, drawing an arrow. He turned sharply to Loki, who was still gaping incredulously at the pair. "So don't think we're doing this for you, asshole. Duck!"

Loki ducked just before a bullet skimmed where his head once was. Clint released the arrow, immediately killing the warrior responsible. Loki straightened, still confusedly shaken, and gave a bow of the head in thanks. Clint pretended he didn't notice.

"Stark, on your left!" Natasha said.

The defensive blast from Tony's suit drilled a hole through the building that surrounded them. Steve gave a cry of protest.

"There are civilians in there, Stark!"

"Then get them the hell out," said Tony.

"That was _your_ job!"

"Well, Reindeer Games looked like he was in a bit of a tight spot so I sort of forgot."

Steve gave a groan before slamming his shield down on the head of a Chitauri soldier. "Then fix this!"

Loki turned around and his breath stopped in the middle of his throat. Natasha was battling three warriors at once, armed with only a handgun and herself. She had the upper hand, able to slip between the Chitauri's attacks and tackle their weak points in a nick of time, but one of them behind her was brandishing a jagged sword unbeknownst to her.

It was all out of instinct. The rifle in his one hand was forgotten as he raised the other, calling upon his magic. He felt what little magic was permitted to flow through his veins shudder at its master's command, fighting the chains that the Mind Gem had it in. For just a brief second, he clawed the magic away from the Mind Gem's parasitic possession and sent a dagger of icy blue power shooting towards the Chitauri.

It felt as if someone had a pincer-grip on his heart and pulled at it, stretching it like rubber until it ripped. He let out an inaudible gasp and fell to one knee, clutching his chest as the Mind Gem reverted from clinging to his life source for power back to his waning magic. The Chitauri was scorched on impact of Loki's magic and fell back just as its knife came close to Natasha's back. Natasha whirled around, her eyes wide and falling upon Loki. She looked as shocked as he was, though for a different reason.

"Loki, watch out!" she said.

The warning came a second too late. Loki suddenly felt himself fly into the air, his back stinging from the blow of a Chitauri rifle, before he slammed against the brick wall. He fell to the ground, dazed and aching, dust from the brick billowing about him. His vision grew hazy and his arms shook as they kept him from falling to the ground.

He could hear the whir of machinery as a rifle that he knew was pointed to his head came to life. He raised his head to see a machine gun far beyond the build of any other Chitauri weapon. In that moment, Loki knew—this could be the last thing he would ever see.

"Our master never said you had to be brought back alive," the Chitauri said.

Loki raised his hand.

The Chitauri pulled the trigger.

And—

Horrifying, agonizing shock.

There was no pain. No clawing of his chest. He did not feel his own blood warm his skin. No fade to black, nothing.

Only Thor crumpled on the ground, blood seeping from the wound on his chest he took for Loki when he threw himself in harm's way, barely breathing.

_No._

In that moment, Loki forgot about the battle raging around him, or the Chitauri that had tried to kill him, or anything that ever happened or mattered up until that point. He pulled himself to Thor's side, unable to breathe as he looked upon his brother's (_not brother_) face.

_No no this can't be happening it cannot _

Shaking hands flew to Thor's face. Thor's eyes creaked open just a mite to take in Loki's disbelieving face.

"Loki—" he coughed out. "You're safe."

Loki wanted to hit him. Hit him and tackle him and stab him and knock some sense into him.

_Why?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

Thor was fading in and out of consciousness and Loki tried to call for help. Not even the sound of a sigh escaped his silenced lips. Steve saw, though. Steve, in the midst of a fierce battle with the gradually dwindling number of Chitauri, saw Loki's fallen brother and immediately broke from the fight to rush towards them. Loki pressed his hands against the bleeding chest. There was so much blood, so much carnage, so much _damage._

"Thor, can you hear me?" Steve said the moment he fell to his knees at Thor's side. "Thor, you've got to stay with me, buddy. You've got to stay awake."

Thor barely nodded, his breathing shallow. Steve tore Thor's cloak from his shoulders.

"Loki—use this to stem his bleeding for now. I'll get Stark to call up Bruce to get things ready for Thor when we get back to the tower and fetch you some sort of transportation to get him out fast."

Loki didn't bother questioning the legitimacy of taking orders from the mortal. He automatically took the cloak and covered the wound tightly. Even when the cloak was red, Thor's blood stained it noticeably.

"Thor—keep yourself awake, all right?" said Steve. "Keep your eyes open. Keep looking at Loki. There—that's good. Don't go to sleep, don't close your eyes. We'll get you out of this in no time, but you've got to stay awake, okay? You've got to stay strong."

"Thank you, Captain," Thor said. His voice was barely heard.

"Loki?" said Steve.

Loki looked up. He didn't realize how much he was shaking. Steve put a hand on his shoulder and Loki nearly jumped.

"Don't worry," said Steve. "He'll be all right, okay? Thor will be all right. It's okay. Don't worry."

A loud crash came from behind them and Steve had to return to the fight. Loki felt his heart shudder in his chest as he took in the sight of Thor's bloody body. He could see Thor's eyelids droop and Loki shook his shoulder immediately.

The wound was too deep and too critical. A mere cloak would not keep Thor alive, no matter how long or short the time will be. Loki could feel the blood dampen the cloak already.

_Thor._

He gritted his teeth, trying to breathe calmly. He could feel himself hyperventilating and his head spun. Thor mustn't die. He shouldn't—he can't. Not for Loki. Not for him.

_Don't you die for me._

_Don't you dare die for me._

_I'm not worth it._

He felt his magic thrum in his fingers and he knew. He tore the stained cloak from Thor's chest and placed his hands flat on the open wound.

(was this not the brother he once tried to kill, the man he scorned with his being?)

(does death triumph over hate?)

_Don't you dare die._

Bracing himself for the pain, Loki jerked his magic away from the Mind Gem. It felt as if a thousand hooks were attached to every inch of his insides and were simultaneously torn out of him. He couldn't breathe as his magic poured from his fingers and into Thor's chest, knitting his wounds back together. He forced his eyes to stay open as the Mind Gem drained his life energy, deprived of the magic that was now used to heal Thor.

_Don't die now, Thor._

_Don't leave._

He saw Thor's blood slowly recede back into his body, coloring the previously ashen face. He felt as if it was his own blood that left him. His eyelids grew heavy, and the pain began to numb his body. He couldn't hear anything around him.

_Wake up._

He felt Thor breathe underneath his fingers. His face swam before his eyes. There was no breath left in his own lungs. He felt himself sink closer to the ground until his cheek was barely above Thor's chest.

The Mind Gem thrummed in his chest like a second heart, slowly taking over the first.

_Open your eyes, why won't you open your eyes? _

His hands trembled. He felt so, so cold.

Thor would not stir, but he breathed, and Loki didn't know if he would see any more.

His voice was just at his lips, but he had no breath to make a sound.

_Brother, please._

A cold rush as his life was slowly eaten away, and then—

White, blinding light.


	14. Chapter 14

**I originally intended for this chapter to only be half of this current length, but decided to give you guys some extra scenes. So that means I'm shortening the distance between where I'm updating and what I've written, eek! But ahh, now my favorite (sadistically favorite, there is no legitimate reason as to why it's my favorite) scene to write so far will be closer than before! Granted, it's still got like, six chapters to get there, but you know…**

**Oh, and the cat thing. So...I actually _was_ considering giving Loki a cat, but looking at the story and how the plot will go, the events of the plot are just too busy to put the cat scene in. Sorry to disappoint. I had it all planned out too! Natasha was going to sneak in a cat and then hide it in the kitchen or closet or something and then ask Loki to get something for her from said container and Loki would be all silently snarky but he'd oblige and then BAM there's a kitty. And he'd be super happy and the cat's name would be Spellvirki...and then they'd eventually find out that half the inhabitants of Stark Tower were allergic to cats. But I'm afraid someone else will have to satisfy your kitty and Loki feels...**

**Besides, Loki feels need to take a break every now and then. Loki's got some scenes coming his way where he's not exactly the woobiest of characters. Mehehehehe. (Of course, that's not until a while from now...)**

**Stay tuned for the next chapter, where we get to hear from a character that hasn't made an appearance for a while…**

* * *

Thor could feel himself slipping, the pain unbearable in his chest. He felt Loki's hands upon him and he could only take comfort in the fact that his brother was alive and safe, regardless of what would happen to him. The only thing of regret in his mind was that he had not apologized properly to Loki, had not renounce his stubborn mindset, had not—

But the pain began to subside and his consciousness returned. Breathing became easier and he did not taste his own blood in the back of his throat. When he felt his strength return, he blearily opened his eyes. The last dregs of the battle were muffled in his ears. He raised his head slightly to see Loki upon his chest, the side of his head pressed against Thor's heart.

"You aren't weeping over my dead body already, are you, brother?" Thor croaked, chuckling softly.

Loki did not reply. Thor propped himself up on his elbows, wincing when an ache pricked his chest.

"Loki?" said Thor. "Brother?"

Loki did not move. Panic struck Thor and he sat up immediately, pulling Loki into his arms. Loki was barely breathing, his eyes half-closed and his face so pale Thor could almost see the hair-thin veins beneath them. Thor let out a terrible cry of pain at the sight of Loki's state, shaking his brother's unmoving body to awaken some sign of life from him, only to receive none.

"Thor!" Steve was running back to him. His suit was torn and his shield was scraped, but he was otherwise unharmed. "Thor, you're all right, are you still—?" His eyes fell upon Loki and they widened. "Oh, no."

"He—I—" Thor was too shaken to speak. "I was shot—I wanted to protect him—yet he…his magic—"

"Calm down, Thor," Steve said. He placed a hand on Loki's neck to feel for a pulse. "He's alive. His pulse is still there. He'll be okay, Thor. The Chitauri—we fought them off. Most of them retreated. We'll get him back. Are you all right now?"

Thor put a hand to his chest. There wasn't even a scar on him.

"He used his magic to heal me," Thor said. "He knew it could kill him and yet…"

The words died in Thor's throat and he nearly choked.

"Stark!" Steve straightened and called out over his shoulder. Tony, who was kicking the pile of Chitauri into a corner, turned toward him. His face mask lifted and when he saw Loki and Thor, he gaped. "Stark, you've got to call Bruce and tell him to prepare things to help Loki."

"What happened?" said Natasha. She crouched next to Loki, her face unreadable. There was a long cut running down her cheek and she had a slight limp. She placed two fingers against his neck. Loki hadn't made any sign that he noticed any of them there. She clenched her teeth, her forehead creasing with concern.

"Loki tried to heal me, and the Mind Gem sapped his life," said Thor. He gently closed Loki's eyes for him. "His energy is severely depleted. I don't know if—I don't know if he can heal from this."

He placed a hand on Loki's chest to feel for a heartbeat. The moment he did so, a rush of intangible voices echoed through his ears and Thor felt unnaturally separated from his body. Determined, he forced his mind out of the whirlwind of energy that the Mind Gem tried to entangle him in. His consciousness was forced back to reality, the voices dwindling in his ears as he focused entirely and all of himself on Loki.

"Thor, your hand—" said Natasha.

Thor looked down and he was taken aback. Thin blue tendrils were curled around Thor's fingers from Loki's chest, slowly edging toward his hand. He felt himself gradually grow tired, as if a plug in him was pulled and his energy was trickling away. In the midst of this, he could feel Loki's heartbeat against his warm hand, his chest slowly rising and falling as it took in air. Thor pulled his hand away and the blue vanished.

"What was that?" said Clint, dragging the last of the Chitauri onto the pile.

"I do not know," said Thor. His eyes searched hungrily for any sign of improvement on Loki.

"He needs medical attention, and fast," said Natasha, looking around fervently. "Hasn't anyone got anything remotely useful on them?"

"He needs his magic to heal, doesn't he?" said Tony. He crouched next to Loki and picked up Loki's limp wrist. With a click, the one cuff that encased Loki's wrist fell. Clint opened his mouth to protest, but then resigned to his silence. "This will give him enough to buy us time, if we need it."

"Stark, call Bruce and then find someone to pick us up," said Captain. "And call up SHIELD so they can—I don't know—they can dispose the evidence of this fight. I don't think New York City would enjoy hearing about another alien attack."

"I don't take orders," said Tony before walking deeper into the alleyway, facing the dead end.

"What are you doing, Stark?" said Natasha.

"Calling Bruce and SHIELD," said Tony.

Steve closed his eyes, his eyebrow twitching with irritation. "We need some sort of fast transportation for Loki. I don't know how long he'll hold on."

"Get Happy to drive," said Clint. "How much time do you need?"

"Loki? I don't know," said Steve. "I'm no doctor. He's breathing and he's got a pulse, but it's extremely weak. He's totally unresponsive and he's going cold, fast."

"I'll fly him back," said Tony, finishing the call.

"Let me," said Thor.

"I've got two free arms when I fly. You need to hold onto your hammer," said Tony. "I'll be faster than any car, any plan, anything. I'll be faster than even Superman."

Thor swallowed hard. He didn't want to let go of Loki. A deep, fearful part of him wasn't sure if this may be the last time with Loki should he part. But time was of the essence, and Loki's life was on the line. He slowly let go of Loki. Tony bent down, putting an arm under Loki's shoulders and knees to lift him up. Loki was as limp as a ragdoll, and Thor's heart pained.

"Meet you there?" Steve said.

"I'll keep the coffee warm until you get back," said Tony. He shot out into the sky, Loki still in arms, a red and gold flash darting toward Stark Tower.

"He'll be okay, Thor," said Natasha. "We better get back now, the sooner we get back the better—"

Thor didn't hear the rest of it. With a swing of Mjölner, he already raced into the sky.

* * *

By the time Tony had reached his tower with Loki, Loki was in such a critical state that Tony had to call in the SHIELD medical team despite promising Fury that he wouldn't bother SHIELD's agents any further than he had to. Even Thor wasn't allowed to be with him for the countless hours they spent trying to stabilize Loki, and in the end Bruce had to install the most basic prototype he and Tony came up with to limit the Mind Gem's power to give Loki enough magic to keep himself alive. Thor paced endlessly in front of the room, scratching at his perfectly untouched chest and listening to the sounds that came from the room.

Sometimes Natasha would stand with him, silent and calm. They would stand wordlessly side by side, basking in each other's presence. It was enough for Thor, and he could breathe easily.

Sometimes Steve would come by and give him a cup of juice to calm them. Thor couldn't swallow anymore after two small gulps.

Every now and then Pepper would give him a pillow to sit on and she'd sit across from him on the ground and engage in small talk. It worked, and his mind was given time to relax as he conversed with her. When she had to leave for her responsibilities, however, the worry came crashing down on him, and he could only sit silently and wait.

Clint came by once. He stopped in his tracks and shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Thor did not blame Clint; fear and distrust were hard things to overcome. In the end, Clint sat down next to Thor, clapped a hand on Thor's shoulder, and stayed there for a while. The gesture made Thor's eyes sting, and when Clint finally stood to leave, Thor couldn't look at him.

When the door finally opened and Bruce said that Loki was going to be all right, Thor burst into the room. The medic team was cleaning up after themselves, but Thor had only eyes for Loki on the bed. His face was so gaunt Thor for a moment feared that Loki had already died. But he could see him breathing and this was enough for now.

He sat at Loki's bedside, sadly reflecting that he had been doing this much more often in the past several weeks than he wished to. Loki lied so unmoving on the bed—Loki hardly ever slept on his back. He always liked to sleep on his side—his right side, to be exact. Here, Loki looked dead.

Tentatively, Thor reached for Loki's hand and squeezed it tight. It was so powerless, so unlike his frighteningly powerful brother.

"His magic isn't all the way returned yet," said Bruce, pointing to the metal disc that was strapped on Loki's chest underneath his thin shirt. "We only capped about a fraction of the Mind Gem's power, but it seemed to be enough to elevate his magic level a bit. We're still working on it, Tony and me."

"I cannot thank you enough, Doctor," said Thor, not taking his eyes off of Loki's face. "It is magic that has broken him so; perhaps he needs the power of the AEsir to fully heal."

"Can you do that?" said Bruce.

"Not I," said Thor. "I have not an ounce of magic in me." He remembered how in the past, when he was still a child, he watched in awe as Frigga, Odin, and Loki so flippantly performed magic as easily as they breathed, how fantastic it seemed to him despite its disapproval in battle, and how his childish heart burst with jealousy wen he realized that he was the only one in the family who was not blessed with the skill. He could throw a blade with frightening accuracy but could not conjure flowers for Sif with a snap of his fingers as Loki had once done; he could hunt five bilgesnipes in one trip and yet could not smooth over a gritty wound from an unfortunate fall in a mere second. The sentiments had died away in adolescence, but now Thor felt that gnawing hunger for magic, for seidr, just so he could help Loki.

"Thank you again, Doctor, for taking care of Loki," said Thor. "Even after what he has done to you, you still helped him, and I will repay you in any way possible."

"You don't have to," said Bruce. "I wanted to help him. I did. I do."

Thor raised his eyes to Bruce. Bruce shrugged bashfully.

"He's been hurt enough," said Bruce. "He deserves some help."

"You've all been unspeakably kind," said Thor. "May I…may I have some time alone with Loki?"

Bruce took off his glasses and nodded. He quietly gestured to the other medics to exit the room, leaving Thor alone and quiet with Loki. Thor took in a deep breath and swallowed hard. They said that Loki would live and get better, so what made him so afraid?

"Loki?" he said. "Can you hear me?"

He wondered if this was like the Odinsleep, used to regain his energy. Thor smiled grimly at the thought.

"Please come back to me, brother," said Thor. "You've been alone for far too long, and all I want is to keep you safe and happy. I want you to be well again. Not just healed, but happy, healthy, at peace."

He bowed his head. "I was one of the hands that stabbed you in the back, and I regret nothing more. I can only wish that you forgive me, but know that nothing will stop me from loving you, Loki. I miss you, brother. I've missed you for so long."

He almost lost Loki far too many times. He didn't know how much more he could take. This fear was excruciatingly painful.

"See the light, Loki," he said. "I know you're still there. The brother that once loved life is still in you."

He waited for a twitch of the finger. A slight turn of the head, a sign, anything. But Loki showed no sign of life.

_Can you feel me, Loki?_

He squeezed Loki's hand.

_If you wake, will you return?_

He stayed at Loki's bedside for a long, long time.

* * *

She never saw Loki unconscious before, Natasha realized. Not completely unconscious, anyway. When they found him crushed into Tony's floor back during the Chitauri invasion, he was more or less lucid; at least, he was twitching.

But here, he was absolutely still, like a body in a coffin, the only sign of life was the regular beep of his heart rate on the machines hooked onto him and the barely noticeable rise of his chest as he breathed.

It was unnerving. Like witnessing a wolf cry "Huntsman!"—against nature, against all preconceived notions.

She never really noticed how fragile he looked.

Not that she would ever tell him that. She preferred to stay alive, thank you very much.

Natasha pulled a chair up next to his bed. She half expected him to open his eyes, flash a mischievous grin before disappearing altogether, proving this entire situation to be a farce. But nothing happened. The longer she stared at him, the less alive he seemed.

She glanced at the metal disc upon his chest. It uncannily reminded her of Tony's arc reactor and wondered if he designed it so on purpose. Did Loki still hear whatever voices plagued him when the Mind Gem was disturbed? She unconsciously reached out, her fingers hovering over his chest. She wondered if she could chisel into his mind and see what nightmares plagued him. What kept him from sleeping for all these nights. But she pulled back resignedly.

He reminded her of a fairy tale. Like Snow White in princely form, waiting for true love's kiss.

Or maybe not. He'd be endlessly offended if he knew she had compared him to a little princess who died eating fruit.

Besides, she reasoned. He was more comparable to the little mermaid, anyway. Being mute and all.

She brushed the thought aside, half guilty. She didn't know what exactly caused his silence. Tony reckoned it was post-traumatic stress disorder. Bruce mentioned it wasn't just talking, but communicating in general. She remembered once Thor tried to have Loki write his thoughts down. They were never touched.

"Me again," she said, as if Loki could hear her. Perhaps he could. "Just me. No Thor, no doctors. Thor's locked in his own room to get some rest. He wouldn't leave your side otherwise."

How foolish she was that she watched him, expecting a reaction. She could find more life in a coffee table.

"You've been out for a while," she said. A day and a half, to be exact. This was not unusual, she reasoned. It could be worse, still. It had yet to be worse.

This was the part where he was supposed to give her a very snarky look.

"I figured you might be bored," she said. She lifted the book she carried with her. "You were in the middle of reading this before you…got into a coma."

She flipped through the pages, keeping an eye on Loki. His face was so calm and peaceful that he almost looked like an entirely different person. It was almost frightening that he could be at such peace only when he was on the brink of life and death.

He looked so much younger. She wondered how old he was, how long he has lived. How much he has seen.

"I kind of don't want you hogging my book all the time, and this just makes the borrowing date even longer," Natasha said. "So you're going to have to listen to the whole story now, so I can have it back faster. Can't say you didn't hear the story."

She found the place he left off, marked with a sticky note.

"This is the king speaking," she said.

Natasha cleared her throat, then cleared it again, as if to take back Loki's attention. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.

"_Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;__  
Or close the wall up with our English dead.  
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man  
As modest stillness and humility:  
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,  
Then imitate the action of the tiger;  
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,  
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage._"

Natasha never read much Shakespeare on her own, never having an English Literature class in her youth or any fiction books in her childhood. _Macbeth _was the only one she could claim as her own. These words were a mystery to her, and while she understood their carvings and surface, she couldn't drill into the meaning or emotion she knew existed underneath. She wondered if Loki tapped into it, if he was adept to reading more than just sentences. She wondered how much he understood.

_What are the nightmares of your soul?_

She pictured him crying himself to sleep. It wasn't so impossible.

"_Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;__  
Let pry through the portage of the head  
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it  
As fearfully as doth a galled rock  
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,  
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.  
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,  
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit  
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.  
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!_"

She paused for a moment. Was she truly in a medic room, reading out loud to an unconscious person who happened to supposed to be her enemy?

_He's a murderer._

So was she.

_He's a monster._

In which way did she mean?

_He's heartless._

That was an absolute lie.

For a brief moment she wondered what Thor would do or say if he heard anyone say that of Loki. What Loki would do or say.

_(In her mind, his lips tightened, his bright eyes flashed, but he would give a thin smile that was translucent enough to hide behind, and she would know better)_

She shook her head.

_"Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,__  
Have in these parts from morn till even fought  
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:  
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest  
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.  
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,  
And teach them how to war."_

For the hundredth time, she wondered where he got the bouquet of flowers for downtown.

She remembered the jet of power erupting from his fingers that may have saved her life.

_You are the human, and I am the reflection._

She lifted her eyes to him and saw not the god of mischief, not the dishonest Frost Giant, not the brother of Thor, not even the tyrant with blood on his hands. She saw Loki and she wondered why it took her so long to see.

"_And you, good yeoman,__  
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here  
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear  
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;  
For there is none of you so mean and base,  
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes._"

She imagined a prince, whose black hair was lined with gold, pale face pure and calm. She imagined a happily ever after, and for once she did not scoff at the idea.

"_I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,__  
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:  
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge  
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'_"

Her heart beat heavily in her chest.

You are the god of lies, Loki, she thought. So how are you so truthful?

How can you let yourself wear your heart on your sleeve where someone can easily tear your hem?

_You think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself can save anything?_

She looked down at her book. Her hands grew balmy.

_They are a part of you and they will never_

_go _

_away_

He lay here, on the brink of life and death; a prince of a fairy tale—a nightmare—a tragedy.

"Exeunt. Alarum, and the chambers go off," she said. Her lips felt dry and she swallowed hard.

She closed the book and put it to the side. She hesitated before sighing and putting a hand on Loki's shoulder. She gripped it gently.

"Come on, Loki," she said. Her throat felt thick. "Come on."

* * *

Tea was overrated. Especially at two in the morning when internet websites claimed that drinking a cup of hot green tea was supposed to ease sleep. Wasn't it somewhere else that she read that tea was supposed to wake up the senses? Some consistency on this subject would be preferable.

Natasha stared accusingly at the dregs of her tea, clumping like sand on the bottom rim of her teacup. She was no stranger to sleep evading her, but when Tony of all people was commenting on her lack of a sleep schedule, she realized that she needed a well-earned break. But every time she let her head hit the pillow, her mind would race and the dark showed her more shadows than she ever realized before.

Shadows of faces she barely remembered.

Shadows of faces she saw in a distance, so far she could not recognize them in the obituary a day later.

She groaned and shook her head vigorously. Forget sleep, she needed a hot shower. A very long, hot, cleansing shower.

"Nat?"

She looked up from her teacup. Clint was at the living room door, frowning in confusion.

"You don't have night duty; what are you doing up?" he said.

Natasha sighed. "Can't sleep. Figured I might as well do something besides lie there doing nothing."

"Do you need melatonin or something? Because I can give you some," said Clint.

"No," said Natasha. "No. That's fine. Thanks."

Clint looked both ways before entering the living room, sitting down on the couch next to her. She set her cup down on the coffee table.

"How's your leg?" he said.

She shrugged. "Bruce said it was only a sprain. I've had worse. How about you? Any lasting injuries?"

"No," said Clint. "The Chitauri have to try harder than that."

_I bet they could, _she thought. She remembered Loki in the hospital bed, virtually lifeless.

"Is something bothering you?" he said.

She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, as if to force the words out of her.

"It's an itch," she said. "It's like I have a seven-year itch and it shouldn't bother me by now, but it does."

Clint bit his lip and set down his weapon he brought along during night duty. "Do you want to talk about it?"

_I have, _she thought. _I have and I did countless times so why does it still bother me?_

"Clint?" she said.

"Yeah?" said Clint.

"When you were supposed to kill me, why didn't you?" she said.

Clint furrowed his eyebrows. He leaned back in his seat.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked.

"Because," she said. "I want to know—of all the duties you had, of all the people you fought, why me? Why was I the one you decided to spare and bring back to SHIELD?"

Clint opened his mouth, closed it in reconsideration, and then rubbed the back of his head. He let out a soft sigh.

"Was it because I—I don't know—I was a woman and you thought I'd be soft or something?" said Natasha. "Was it because you pitied me? I'd be a useful asset to SHIELD? You thought I was pretty?"

"Tasha," Clint said.

"Then what was it?" said Natasha. She rubbed her arms defensively as if to warm herself. "What made me any different?"

Clint shifted so that he faced her. Natasha stole a glance at him from the corner of her eyes. His face was soft, especially in the orange light of the one lit lamp.

"I—when I cornered you that time, after that fight we had," said Clint. "I wasn't thinking of bringing you to SHIELD. Not yet. I was just going to get my duty done and move on. So, yeah—I guess you can say the first time we met, we were both legitimately and mutually trying to kill each other."

She cracked a dry smile at this.

"But then when you were defenseless—and I guess when I beat you—I finally took a look at you for the first time—" For some reason, those words made Natasha stiffen. "—and I just—I couldn't. I couldn't kill you like that."

"Why was that?" Natasha said quietly.

Clint pursed his lips. "You looked afraid. You were so afraid that I knew then and there that you weren't the coldblooded, heartless killer that people said you were. I knew you were human, and you were afraid, and that—that there was hope for you. I thought I saw regret in you."

_Regret_. She swallowed hard.

"I wanted to help you right then and there," said Clint. "I couldn't kill you, not when I knew you had a chance to have a new life. And," he offered her a small smile, "I'm glad I did."

Natasha gave him a quick smile. She kept her gaze on the wall opposite of her. She could feel Clint shift beside her.

"Why?" he asked.

Natasha lowered her head. "I was just wondering."

"You wanted to know," he said, "because you were wondering if you should give that same chance to Loki too, didn't you?"

Natasha turned to face Clint, her lips pressed in a thin line.

"You can't keep that many secrets from me, Natasha," said Clint.

"I shouldn't," she said, her voice feeling strangely hollow. She took in a deep breath. "Well? Say that's the truth."

"Is it?" said Clint.

"Just say it is," said Natasha. "What will you do? What will you say to me?"

"Natasha, do you really want my input on that?" Clint said, his voice heavy.

"I care for your opinion. Don't take it for granted," said Natasha.

Clint was silent for a moment. He clasped his hands together and rested them against his lips.

"You think you know what you're doing?" he said into his fingers.

"I'm not stupid," said Natasha. "I'm the most aware of what I'm doing than anyone else."

"I know," said Clint. "I know." He heaved a sigh. "Nat, I don't want to tell you I think he and you are different cases, but—"

"But you think so," said Natasha. Clint looked at her. "See, I can read you too."

"You've always been able to," he said.

"How is he different from me?" said Natasha. "We both have blood on our hands. An awful lot of blood. We both are liars and killers."

"You're not anymore," said Clint.

_Is that the truth?_

_Is it?_

"You're sorry for what you've done," said Clint.

"I never said sorry," said Natasha. "I've never been to a funeral."

A look of confusion passed Clint's face. "Natasha?"

"You don't know if he's not sorry," she said.

"I never said I knew that or otherwise," said Clint.

"What if he was?" said Natasha. "What if I told you I knew he was? What would you say? Would you still think he doesn't deserve a second chance? If he wants it badly, would you really not give it to him? If you saw me that day when you were supposed to kill me, and saw not fear but thirst for blood, would you have shot me years ago?"

"I get it," Clint said, his voice quiet. "I get it. You and the rest of the people in this tower—I get it. You're all better people than me. I'm not being sarcastic," he said when Natasha opened her mouth to protest. "I know it already. I'm not a good person. And I don't like to forgive. But I understand about second chances. I know how you feel, and how you will feel. When I first brought you to SHIELD, people were just as skeptical as I am now. People didn't trust me, and they won't trust you. And I know that."

"Then what is it?" said Natasha.

"I'm selfish," said Clint. "I don't want him around. I want him gone, gone, with a second chance or not. I don't care what help he gets as long as he's gone as soon as possible. I'm a hypocrite; when other people are willing to give people who I hate a second chance, I'm not open-minded. I have a long memory, and so I hold a lot of grudges. What if he hurts you? Hurts all of us?"

"Even the boy who cried wolf needed help," said Natasha. "But no one came."

"That's because he tricked the town all the time," said Clint.

"So it's better that he or his sheep got eaten by a real wolf in the end?" said Natasha. "Liars are hard to swallow. Trust is nothing real. But why don't we just come to his aid every time? Whether or not it's real—okay. We might lose time, we might lose our patience or our nerve. But that's better than risking losing someone's safety. Maybe someone's life."

Clint rubbed his forehead, staring at the carpet. "You might lose more than your patience."

"That's what people told you, didn't they?" said Natasha.

Clint licked his lips. "Yeah," he said. "They did."

They sat in silence. Natasha felt torn. She knew that if Clint had any say, he'd rather she didn't come any closer to Loki ever again. However, if Thor were to find out (and for that case, maybe Loki himself), he'd be eternally grateful.

But what did she want?

"You don't have to agree with me," she said. "You don't even have to give him a second chance. Just know that this is my choice. I think he's got a chance. He's got some hope. And I'm not going to throw that aside."

"I trust you, Nat," said Clint. He looked very tired.

_Something I'll always wonder why._

"Thank you," she said. And she meant it.

Clint bowed his head before taking back his weapons he put on the coffee table. "I better get back. Don't want the other agents thinking I'm slacking on the job."

"Not that there's anything going on," said Natasha. "The person you're guarding the world from is in a coma."

"Protocol," said Clint. "Get some sleep, Natasha. You'll need it."

"I'll try," said Natasha.

He saluted her before leaving the room, letting her dwell in the silent dregs of their conversation and her cold green tea. She leaned back in the couch, letting her head fall back against the wall. He wasn't angry with her, at least. She wasn't sure how she would feel if he was angry at her. If she would back down. If she would plow through regardless. If it would have made a difference.

_You think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself can save anything?_

_You're a monster._

_You're a monster._

_You're a monster._

Asphodels and white dryads, petals lined with lacy frost.

Like the tea, she drank in the remainder of the night. It tasted bitter.


	15. Chapter 15

**Warning: I know, I know…I keep doing this, but…yeah. The latter part of this chapter has potentially disturbing content, which might actually be triggering. If you are unsure, please skip the italicized/bolded last bit of this chapter.**

**I was listening to Regina Spektor's song 'Oedipus' while writing said section. If anyone notices how different my style becomes in that scene…listen to the song and you might understand why.**

**Also: I considered getting an AO3 account, but then apparently you need an invite and there are +20000 people on the waiting list and I was like 'aint nobody got time for that' and am sticking with Tumblr and FFnet for the time being.**

**Can I just say that the character development I'm most excited about besides Loki is actually Clint? Boy, do I have plans for him...**

**Don't you hate it when you're reading a really good story on AO3 and then it fREAKING ENDS IN A CLIFFHANGER AND THE STORY HASN'T BEEN UPDATED IN MORE THAN A MONTH? My feels are shot and gOSHDARNIT AND YOU ALL WONDER WHY I TRY TO SADISTICALLY RETALIATE.**

**Enjoy this chapter, in which the house of Odin sucks at communication and would be That Family whose family road trip takes them five hundred miles away from where they originally intended. **

* * *

"How's it going?"

Tony rubbed his eyes before calculating a formula on the screen JARVIS provided for him. "Give me a cup of coffee and I'll talk."

Bruce snorted. "You realize that drinking as much coffee as you do and nothing else can cause dehydration?"

"That's why I get my coffee iced. Eventually the ice will melt and everything will be fine. JARVIS, give me a screen of all of Sleeping Beauty's records, will you?"

JARVIS obediently pulled up a table of Loki's records. His breathing and heart rate were still unusually slow and his blood pressure was low, not to mention the wounds he sustained that were now added to the rest of the damage were barely healing. The only good sign that Tony got from the prototype was that the Mind Gem wasn't sucking Loki's life out, at least. Although, that could be due to the fact that Loki wasn't trying to use his magic more than anything else.

"Frankly, I think it's a good sign that this guy's still alive," said Tony.

"His body's not reacting well to the medicine or treatment I'm giving him," said Bruce. "I don't know if it's because of his biological makeup or because of the Gem…where's Thor? I was going to ask him."

"Not in Loki's room; that's all I know," said Tony, pulling up a holographic model of the prototype. "I had JARVIS lock him out of it."

"Lock him out—? What for?" said Bruce, aghast. "Why would you keep Thor away from Loki?"

"Because he's going to turn into stone if he keeps sitting there like a widow all day and all night," said Tony. "He needs some exercise. And food. And a life."

"It's perfectly normal for Thor to be worried," said Bruce. "Frankly, I don't know why you think your artificial intelligence can put up with Thor when he wants to do what he wants, even if your doors are made of the strongest alloy you can find."

"He wouldn't break through them if he thought he'd hurt Loki in the process," said Tony.

"Aren't they automatic?" said Bruce.

"Thor still doesn't understand the concept of automatic doors. I think we'll be fine," said Tony. "Dummy! Dummy, get me some coffee."

The spindly robot wheeled away from Tony's work room, crashing into the doorway along the way. Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"You need some sleep, Tony."

"Sleep is for the weak. And the inebriated. Which I'm not, this time," said Tony.

"You might as well be," said Bruce. "You're making JARVIS play Asian pop music again."

Tony turned sharply to one of the screens before quickly shutting off JARVIS' music player before the surprise music could reach the chorus.

"Ever since Reindeer Games messed with JARVIS, he hasn't been the same since," said Tony. "I should have thought twice when I challenged him to a competition."

"Finally found someone to battle for your genius title?" said Bruce with a wry smile.

"Hey, that was already you. Now this guy is battling for JARVIS' control," said Tony.

"_Speaking of control, sir," _said JARVIS. "_I think I ought to inform you that you have a visitor."_

"Tell them to go away, I'm busy," said Tony.

"_I'm afraid that this visitor is already upon your outer deck, making her way into the tower as we speak."_

"Excuse me?" said Tony. "She's on the outer deck and not the door? _She_?"

"Please don't tell me this is another one of your crazed fan girls come to steal your boxers," said Bruce.

"Well, can't say it never happened before," said Tony. "Wait, wait, hold on. Keep your doors closed, JARVIS. How did you not notify me about this earlier?"

"_Doors properly secured, sir. And she did not appear on your property until 0.93 seconds before I alerted you."_

"Oh my God, I have a flying squirrel for a fan girl," said Tony. He shut off all the screens in the work room and hurried out, Bruce at his heels. "Guys? Guys! Hey, SHIELD, you guys suck at your job."

Clint poked his head out from behind the corner, bow and arrow aloft. "What are you talking about?"

"Aren't there supposed to be some of you guarding my deck?" said Tony, making his way toward the bar and living room. "Yeah, great job, considering I apparently have an intruder coming in through this way."

"Intruder?" Clint's eyes sharpened. "We were told we had to keep certain somebodies from coming out, not getting in."

"Yeah, well, tell that to JARVIS."

Tony came out of the hallway into the marbled room, expecting a horde of parachuting fangirls at his deck. However, who he saw was no one he ever expected or recognized. At the glass door was a tall, golden woman, waiting patiently at the steps as if she knew he was coming around. Tony glanced back at Bruce, who threw his hands up in confusion just as well, before approaching the glass.

"JARVIS, establish a PA system between the outer deck and inside this room," said Tony.

"_Coming along, sir."_

First, the sound of static, before the communication system set itself upright. Tony cleared his throat, unable to stop gaping at the fair woman on the other side of the glass. She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment of him. She was slightly older and had a somewhat familiar essence to her, even though he was very, very sure he never met her in his entire life.

"So, hi," said Tony. He could hear his voice on the other side of the glass. "I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?"

Bruce groaned audibly behind him.

"Are you Anthony Stark?" said the woman. Her voice was warm but firm.

"That's me," said Tony. "Did you…er, did you just fly up here or something?"

"This was the way I entered," she said.

He cast a glance at Bruce. Bruce had the look of _why do you expect me to know _on his face.

"The front door is always the best bet," he said.

"So much for tact, Tony," said Bruce.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, son of Stark," said the woman.

"Son of—? Oh shit. Oh no," said Tony. He had enough weird Asgardian godlings under his roof and he was definitely not trained to deal with this. "Wait—look, this is a little forward, but who are you?"

"I am Frigga of Asgard," said the woman. "Is Thor with you?"

"Asgard? Thor?" said Bruce. "Are you saying you're—er, that you know Thor?"

"Clint, go find Thor," said Tony, feeling a little dazed from all the events.

"Where am I supposed to find Thor?" said Clint. "In Loki's room?"

"No, no Loki's room, I locked him out."

"Is Loki all right?" said Frigga, her eyes widening at the sound of the name.

"The answer depends on who you are in relations to him," said Tony. Clint ran off to fetch for Thor. Even with Bruce and himself on one side and only this Frigga person on the other, he couldn't help but feel relatively outnumbered. This Frigga woman had an aura to her that was sweetly formidable.

"Tony, stop stalling and let her in," said Bruce.

"Is that wise?" said Tony from the corner of his mouth.

"If she was dangerous, I think she would have taken down the whole tower by now."

"Debatable," said Tony. When Clint reappeared with Thor at the elevators, Tony threw his arms wide apart. "Thor, buddy, help us out here. What the hell are all your people doing coming here without warning?"

Thor completely ignored Tony, his eyes widening when he set his eyes upon Frigga. He hurried forward, bewildered and speechless.

"Mother, what are you doing here?" Thor said.

Wait—mother?

This woman that Tony was locking out was Thor's _mother, _as in queen and potentially powerful goddess of Asgard?

"Thor," said Frigga, pressing her hands against the glass.

"JARVIS, can you open the door?" said Tony.

A small _click, _and the door was unlocked. Frigga stepped into the tower, closing the glass gently behind her. When Thor started to move toward her with arms held aloft to embrace her, she—in all her elegance and grace—stepped forward and slapped him across the face.

The look of pure perplexity on Thor's face didn't even come close to the absolute bewilderment of everyone else in the room.

"My son," said Frigga. Her voice was something comparable to honey set on fire. "Do you know how much distress you put us through?"

"I—what?" said Thor, absolutely confused.

Tony couldn't help but gawk. It wasn't every day that a woman flew onto his deck, walked in, slapped Thor, and berated him until he sulked like a puppy.

"Of all the things you kept secret from me, you keep _this,_" said Frigga.

"How did you—how did you find out?" said Thor.

"Do you think you can hide much from Heimdall? Much less your own mother?" said Frigga.

Bruce, Clint, and Tony were absolutely and irrevocably lost that it ought to be humorous how lost they were.

"I know I have disobeyed Father's commands," said Thor, his voice grave. "But I could not let Loki die alone. I had to go to him and bring him to safety, and I regret nothing of it."

Frigga looked positively appalled.

"Do you think that I am angry at you for that?" said Frigga.

Thor looked so lost that Tony would have laughed, if he wasn't just as confused.

"Then…then what is going on?" said Thor.

"The least you could have done was tell me, my son," said Frigga. "Instead of let me build up my magic in order to transport myself in between the branches of Yggdrasil to find Loki myself only to have Heimdall tell me you had gone off yourself with no direction, no magic, nothing to protect yourself or your brother with save your stubborn heart, and you had not even confided in your own mother of your secret."

Thor's eyes were so wide that he looked as if he shrank in age by many years. "You…you nearly sought Loki yourself? You would disobey your own husband?"

"Don't you turn this argument to me, now," said Frigga. "I asked Heimdall constantly where you and Loki were, but the both of you were shielded from view until recently, and for weeks I endlessly feared that the both of you were lost in the Void and that I could never reach you."

"I—I'm sorry for worrying you, Mother," said Thor. "I feared you would stop me."

"Stop you? Thor Odinson, let me tell you—" God, Thor's mother was intimidating. "As I was searching for a way to reach Loki, I ran into your own father making the same plans to sneak out of Asgard to find him."

Thor's eyes nearly bugged down and he choked on his own breath. "You—Father—Mother, how is this even possible? Father had chosen the Gauntlet instead of Loki, he stopped me from running to him—"

"One thing you and Loki ought to know is that you both did not inherit your recklessness from no one," said Frigga. "Asgard is facing troubles but your father will not stop fretting for the both of you."

"Thor, what exactly is going on…?" said Bruce, piping up in between the awkward pause.

"Right—oh, yes, of course," Thor said, flustered. "My friends—this is my mother, Queen Frigga of Asgard. Mother—I've spoken to you before of my companions. This is Anthony son of Stark the engineer, Bruce son of Banner, and Clint son of Barton. They have shown unending kindness to Loki and me—"

At the mention of her youngest, Frigga's face was strained with pain.

"How is Loki, Thor?" she said. "Where is my little boy?"

"He is still healing," said Thor. "But he…his progress is slow if not unchanging." He turned to Tony. "Stark, will you grant us access?"

"Right…right, sure," said Tony. "JARVIS, unlock the doors for them."

"_Right away, sir_."

Tony watched Thor lead Frigga to Loki's room, his heart unusually hollow at the sight of them. Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe he was just plain awful, but to realize that Thor and Loki, who were probably hundreds or thousands of years older than Tony, still had their mother around to care for them, made Tony realize how very little time he ever had with his own mother. He shook his head vigorously to shed these unbecoming sentiments (Twenty years. One would think he'd forget everything in twenty years).

"Hey, Bruce," said Tony. "Wanna help me fix that reactor really fast in case Mama Thor asks us about it?"

"Let's get working," said Bruce.

* * *

Thor hesitated at first when he approached the door. Loki's state would no doubt shake Frigga, but she walked forward before Thor could even warn her. The doors parted, letting them into the room. It was a rather lonely room, with only one medic cleaning his supplies on the side of the room. There was also Natasha at his bedside, reading from her paperback book, completely unaware of Thor and Frigga's appearance. She spoke in low tones, leaning toward Loki low enough for him to hear, should he be awake.

"_What is it then to me, if impious war,__ Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends,__ Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats__ enlink'd to waste and desolation?_" she read aloud as she turned the page. Thor suddenly felt a surge of thankfulness and affection for Natasha. "_What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause,__ if your pure maidens fall into the hand__ of hot and forcing violation?__ What rein can hold licentious wickedness__ when down the hill he holds his fierce career?_"

"Agent Romanoff," he said softly. She looked up from her book, her lips still shaped in half-word. Her eyes fell upon Thor and Frigga and she sat up straight immediately, snapping the book shut in one hand. Thor could see Frigga studying Natasha intently from the corner of his eyes. He gestured to his mother. "Please meet my mother, Queen Frigga of Asgard. Mother, Natasha Romanoff of SHIELD. She is the prominent warrior I spoke to you of before."

"Enchanted to meet you, young lady," Frigga said, but she only had eyes for her son. Natasha bowed her head in response, tucking her copy of her book into her jacket pocket.

"I'll leave you two," she said under her breath before slipping from her stool and heading out the door before Thor could stop her. She fled from the room without a second glance back, letting the doors slide shut behind her with a misty click.

Frigga wordlessly sat next to Loki's bed, taking his still hand in hers. She closed her eyes, pressing his white knuckles against her lips. Thor sat next to her, his mouth becoming very dry. She sat still, silent as if praying, squeezing Loki's hand as if trying to let the warmth of her own body seep into his.

"Mother," said Thor, his voice cracking. "I must tell you something."

He heard the doors slide open and shut again behind them. The medic too had silently slipped away, leaving the family alone. Frigga did not respond, but she opened her eyes, waiting for Thor to speak.

"This is all my fault," Thor said.

"Do not do this to yourself," said Frigga, her lips brushing Loki's cold hand.

"I was the one who convinced you and Father that Loki had defected with the Chitauri," said Thor. "I was the one who kept anyone from trying to save him from their torture. And here—now—it was I who drove him out of the tower in a fit of sorrow. Had it not been for me and my harsh words, he would not have been so upset that he ran off, and he wouldn't have—the Chitauri wouldn't have—" His throat grew thick with his guilt and he lowered his head.

"It is my fault as much as yours," said Frigga. "He has committed terrible crimes, but he never deserved the torture he went through."

She brushed a loose strand of black hair from Loki's forehead, her fingers lingering as they grazed his mind. She pressed her lips together.

"It is as if he does not realize I am with him," she said. "My little boy does not know that his mother is here for him."

Thor squeezed Frigga's wrist gently. "He risked his life for me."

"Heimdall told me," said Frigga. "He finally caught sight of you on Midgard when the Chitauri had invaded this city. I would have come earlier, but I could not find the rips in space as easily as I had once known them."

"The Chitauri tried to take him back again," said Thor. "They almost did."

Frigga's hand hovered over Loki's chest. Frowning slightly, she let her fingers fall upon the disc that Tony had fastened on top of where the Mind Gem was in Loki's chest.

"I feel power stirring underneath that does not belong to Loki," said Frigga. "It recoils from my touch as if it is my enemy."

"The Mind Gem is in him," said Thor. "Thanos sewed it within him as a form of torture."

"The Mind Gem?" Frigga said, paling. When Thor nodded, she bit her lip. "Loki wields this unwillingly. Such power is not meant to be encased in a fragile body. If left unchecked, it may slowly kill him."

"Stark is working endlessly to counteract its powers," said Thor. "They are close to doing it."

"But until Loki is protected, they are very far," said Frigga. "It feeds on his magic, and with his energy so depleted, it hungrily takes all that it can. Little is left for Loki to heal with."

She placed a fair hand on Loki's forehead and closed her eyes. Slowly, a warm but dim glow emitted from the gaps between her fingers, sinking into Loki's skin. Thor watched, enthralled, as Frigga poured some of her own magic into Loki. Light streamed down Loki's body as if it was replacing the blood in his veins, sinking into the cruelest wounds.

"Mother?" said Thor.

"I can spare enough to help him now," said Frigga. "But I cannot counteract the Mind Gem's force. He will need his own strength for that."

Thor tightened his grip on his mother, feeling her warm magic trickle from her body into Loki. He imagined that he could see Loki's wounds underneath his bandages slowly knit together and his blood flow more cleanly, but all healing took its time, and he must be patient. He must be strong.

"Mother," he said after a while.

Frigga let her hand fall from Loki's head. She looked drained but still held herself upright. She gave Thor a pained, tight-lipped smile.

"The Mind Gem is a hungry one," she said. "It devoured my magic immediately, but bought Loki a little time to collect his own."

"Rest, Mother," said Thor. "You had a long journey from Asgard to here."

"I must help Loki," said Frigga. "Even if I stepped away, my heart would not rest."

"We will in time," said Thor. "Loki will return."

"But will he return to us?" said Frigga.

Thor hesitated and let a tired sigh escape his lips.

"So long as he returns, I will be at peace," said Thor.

Frigga stroked Loki's black hair absentmindedly, her eyes hungrily searching his still face. Thor was reminded of their childhood, when Loki couldn't sleep after hours of tossing and turning in his bed, and Frigga would come to his room and sing to him lullabies, stroking his head until he was eased into sleep. Thor once teased Loki for this, but now he wanted nothing more than to have this rest as well. To have the peace underneath his mother's hands, drifting into a dream where he didn't fear waking up.

Where Loki would wake up alongside him. Where Loki would not fear the love of his family.

When there was no fighting, no hatred, no anger, no accusation. When it didn't matter who was king or even what was a king but that there were two brothers and they were inseparable. When the golden world did not crumble to dust.

"Oh, Mother," said Thor. His voice shook. "I'm so, so tired."

Frigga wrapped her arms around Thor and he let himself sink in her embrace, wishing never to resurface.

* * *

_Loki hid, holding his breath, curled in a ball, trying to disappear in the space. He wondered how long he could last without taking a breath. Don't make a sound. Don't make a sound he will hear you pleasedon'tmake a sound stop it stopbreathing stoplookingstop_

_He was coming. Loki could hear those heavy footsteps, feel the dust billow at every step, and he could feel the pain already, pain coursing through his veins his muscles his bones his everything until he was the epitome of pain no he was pain he was Pain he was PAIN_

_Cover your mouth. Don't let a sound come out of you. Let a sound come out and you're dead. You're dead you're dead but you're not because you're **Death. **_

_He knew. He knew Loki was here. He could hear the heavy, hungry breathing. He could almost feel it in his ear, consolidate into liquid and pour into his head. Like poison in the ear. Killing the true king. Killing the real king. Screams. Death by screams. Poison screams._

_This was worse than the times when the Chitauri hunted him, pursued him like the beast he was and they the hungers to rid the world of monstrosity. This was worse than the times they shot him with arrows and strung him to a spit. This was worse. This was worse. _

_"Death." He was whispering. Loki wanted to cover his eyes. "Death, come to me. Death, I am here. Let me take you."_

_Death. Death. _

_Loki did not know what Death looked like, but he could guess. Inky black hair, a white thin face, and eyes too large and too light. _

_His shadows shifted and Loki almost cried out. He knew. He knew. HE KNEW._

_A rough, coarse hand reached out and grabbed Loki out of his hiding place by the hair. Loki swallowed a scream as he was jerked out into the open. He could see Thanos' wild, burning eyes as they raked his body. _

_"Oh, Death," Thanos said. "How pale you are. How beautiful."_

_Scream, oh scream. Please, just let me scream because that's all I want that's all I can do that's all please please just let me scream because there's nothing left of me but my name and my voice and you're taking that too—_

_"How beautiful you are, Death," said Thanos."How much I love you."_

_Love made Thanos hungry. _

_Lust made Thanos blind._

_No no no no NO NO NO NO PLEASE LET GO PLEASE DON'T TOUCH ME PLEASE LET ME GO_

_Monsters. Insects. Crawling into the holes in his body, eating his insides. They were chewing tunnels through his body and how it hurt how it **hurt. **_

_Please no leave me alone please don't I can't no oh no I am not who you think I am open your eyes please no no oh no _

_OH **GOD NO PLEASE STOP**_

**_PLEASE STOP THIS END THIS NO MORE DON'T LET THEM IN ME PLEASE _**

_(Thanos was so, so in love with Death)_

_So hungry was love so hungry so ravenous so greedy so desperate SO DESPERATE THIS IS A LIE YOU ARE MAKING A LIE YOU ARE LOVING A LIE A LIE_

_Loki was gone, all of him was gone, not even his body was his anymore he was nothing, his voice was dying, his eyes were fading, he was nothing, he was hiding and now he was gone and no shadows belonged to him anymore and was this dying was this the end could there be anything left for better or for worse? All he had was his name. Himself. All. That is all. _

_Please no more I can't take this anymore please **it hurts it HURTS IT HURTS SO MUCH AND YOU'RE TAKING ME ALIVE YOU'RE HURTING ME YOU'RE TAKING ME YOU'RE KILLING ME OH DEATH HAVE MERCY COME HERE AND HAVE MERCY**_

_In the end, Loki lost even his name._

_Thanos made him become Death._


	16. Chapter 16

**I now have an AO3 account! LadyCharity, as always :3. I post drabbles not seen on this site and there is a strong 93% chance that I will be posting an alternate ending to this story on that site as well. I am torn between two endings, both which I equally like, and I still don't know which one to go with. So whichever is not chosen will end up on AO3. I'd be excited to write both either way.**

**Can I just say that I am _floored _by how much attention this story gets? It surpassed the number of reviews and alerts that my previously most popular story got, which is still two chapters longer and was around for a good two or so years to get to that number?! You guys are absolutely, positively wonderful. Thank you thank you thank you! You have no idea how much it means to me.**

**Crazy! I usually do not do very much heavy editing, but the latter half of this story was seriously made up as a last-minute addition because Thor needs some mother feels as well. Be prepared for an onslaught of feels for the next chapter, though. Thank you to all who read and/or review!**

* * *

Frigga had never seen her son look so fragile in all his years since infancy until now. He was always more slender than Thor and the other boys his age, but he was energetic and had his own powerful strength disguised behind his pale visage, only revealing itself in the quirky grin after tricking Thor into wearing a dress all day or something just as mischievous.

But now, Loki was damaged, even more so than the last time she saw him. The sight of his starved limbs and sickly face were like daggers dragging down her back, and while she knew with her magic in due time she could heal his wounds, the hurt in his mind and heart were far deeper.

She placed a hand on his forehead once she felt her magic slowly rebuild. She had healed his battle wounds, but he starved for magic to sustain his life. She didn't want to think of what could happen if the Mind Gem sucked his magic dry. She felt his magic stir feebly within him, lukewarm. She breathed out slowly, letting her power flow into his veins for the Mind Gem to take. It was ravenous, greedily so, and she wished she could pull it out of him, but she knew it would not be so easy. The Mind Gem was digging its claws into Loki's life; should she tear it away, there was no telling what effect it would have on him.

She hummed an old lullaby; she liked to think that he could hear her, as Odin could hear and see all in his slumber. If he could have comfort in this trying time, she would do all to give it.

_My strong, precious boy, won't you open your eyes again?_

She remembered how broken he looked when Thanos threw him down before their feet and her heart nearly burst with sorrow. She hated herself, it was true—she hated herself for not saving her son right then and there, the rest of the Nine Realms be damned. But she was the queen of Asgard, and she had no right to be a mother if she would condemn the children of many for her own.

But it still hurt tremendously, horribly, guiltily, to see Loki in such pain.

_Know that I'm here, my son, and I starve for the day you return._

She heard the doors open behind her and she turned around. The redhead woman, Natasha, was at the door, book faithfully in hand. When she saw Frigga, she stopped short, eyes wary and unsure. Frigga offered her a soft smile and gestured for Natasha to come in. Natasha hesitated but stiffly took a seat on the other side of Loki opposite of Frigga.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," said Natasha.

"You have done no such thing," said Frigga. The tips of her fingers still glowed as her magic flowed into Loki. "Do you come to him often?"

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows. "No," she said. "We're not—I mean, I don't know him that well at all. Honestly. I just read to him because…" She gave a short laugh in spite of herself. "There really is no good or logical reason."

"I'm glad that you do," said Frigga. "Loki loves stories. I used to do the same for him when he was ill. In his youth, when he fell ill it was always so serious that he would be bedridden for days. Thor wouldn't be allowed to be in his room in our fear that he too would fall ill, but I would be the one to keep him company and read him fairy tales."

"What kind of stories did he like?" said Natasha.

"The ones of magic and wit," said Frigga. "I would never tell him the war stories of past battles. He loved the stories of unexpected heroes and solving riddles."

"Did he really?" Natasha murmured. She set her book onto the nightstand. Frigga watched as Natasha studied Loki as if he were a piece of art whose meaning was beyond the surface. "What was he like? Back in the day?"

Frigga pursed her lips before smiling sadly. "Quietly mischievous. He enjoyed playing harmless tricks—at least, what he believed was harmless. He once snipped away a young lass's locks and replaced them with dark hair instead, and that caused a stir. But he was not a cruel child. He laughed easily, cried tenderly, and loved fully."

Frigga tenderly drew the sheets tighter around Loki's slight form. She was not blind to the blood on her younger son's hands, but no amount of blood could turn her heart away from him or hide his face from her until she would not recognize him. His crimes still weighed heavily in her heart, but as she looked upon his sleeping face that looked so sad, she never wanted to let him go.

"I know you would not believe me," said Frigga. "But Loki was never so vindictive or violent. He had his heart broken and the wounds infected with bitterness and harshness. But he has not completely succumbed to his dark desires, or else my eldest would not be with me today."

"Will you take him back to Asgard after he gets better?" said Natasha.

"I believe he will still be too weak to make the travel," said Frigga. "Until there is a way to end the Mind Gem's power inside him, his abilities are bound. Not unless he kills himself along the way. I can only heal his physical wounds and buy time for his own magic to rebuild."

Natasha nodded slowly.

"You must love him a lot," she said.

"With all my heart," said Frigga, a lump forming in her throat. "He is my child, my little boy, no matter what has ever come between us. Even if he rejects me and curses me, I can never let him go."

Natasha watched Frigga carefully. Frigga could see Natasha's conflicting thoughts pass through her clear eyes; few could get past the queen of Asgard.

"You are doubtful," Frigga said.

Natasha dropped her gaze to the floor.

"Not of you," she said. "If you didn't love him as much as you claimed, you wouldn't be here. You'd feign ignorance."

"Then what is it that concerns you, if I may ask?" said Frigga.

"Just surprised by the level of love you show," said Natasha. "Even among humans with milder situations, it's rare."

"But something else is on your mind," said Frigga. "Something beyond that."

When Natasha kept her silence, Frigga's voice softened. "You do not have to be afraid of telling the truth."

"I think Loki finds that kind of love to be impossible," said Natasha, gazing into Frigga's eyes. Frigga sighed; she knew that she ought to expect it, but it hurt to hear this all the same. "When Thor was telling him the same, Loki seemed like he didn't believe that Thor was telling the truth."

"Loki's actions are his own," said Frigga, "but we are not guiltless in his downfall. And considering what had transpired on Asgard…" She swallowed and traced the hollow of Loki's cheek with her fingers. His bones were sharp against his skin. She wondered if he ever ate at all.

"There's still hope for him," said Natasha. She picked at the loose threads on the edge of the blanket near Loki's shoulder.

"Of course," Frigga said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Of course. I know my son. Even now, I still do. He is indignant, he is betrayed, he is angry—but he feels all this because he still knows love. He knows love because it has hurt him so."

"Have you already forgiven him?" said Natasha. "For all he's done? To Earth—to Asgard?"

Frigga exhaled heavily. Loki felt so slight underneath her soothing hand that she was afraid she would break him.

"I hate what he has done," said Frigga. "I hate what his broken heart has led him to do I hate what his envy and bitterness has corrupted his thoughts into. But I will never hate him."

_But oh, my child, you hate yourself so endlessly it kills me slowly._

Frigga bent low and kissed Loki on the forehead, on his cheek, on his closed eye. He did not stir, and she wondered if he was there at all.

* * *

When Frigga left to rest, Natasha stayed in her place. She ought to leave—it was time for her duty soon—but she felt drawn, as if thread tied her back.

She wished Loki was awake, or conscious enough to have heard everything.

She wished she could hold out her hand and feel the love that poured from Frigga and see if it felt as warm as it sounded.

Natasha reached out her hand and hesitated, her fingers curled above his head where Frigga placed her healing hand not too long ago. She felt as if she was invading upon something fragile, sacred—something she never knew and never deserved to know.

She caved, and let her white fingers graze his smooth forehead. She wondered if she could feel Frigga's magic thrumming against his skin, feel what apparently Loki's family could sense within each other—the magic, the connection, maybe even the love they shared even if Loki buried it deep, deep, deep within him.

She felt nothing but cool skin. She drew her hand away and could feel the dried blood of her past on her hands all over again.

_Did he believe?_

_Did he know?_

She asked herself if someone so wretched (_not wretched_) deserved that love, or _could_ love, for what was love unless it was pure?

Love was pure, and pure was holy, and she hadn't gone to the bejeweled Orthodox church of her childhood in a long time.

_Is it really so strange? _

He was a glass prince with a shattered pearl heart, filled to the brim with love until it hurt him. Until it overflowed.

She wished to catch the droplets of the remains. To cut her finger along the edges of his jagged brokenness and watch herself bleed red.

Was love a line of white flowers?

Was it half-closed eyes and fading breath?

_Love is for children, I owe a debt._

She never felt so naïve.

* * *

"And this—" Frigga pulled open a satchel and spilled the contents on the coffee table. Many stones of varying sizes piled on the marble. "—is something you ought to have brought more of before you ran off without saying a single word to us."

"Mother, you are never going to forgive me, are you?" said Thor, picking up a healing stone and tossing it gently from one hand to the other.

Frigga gave Thor a wry smile. "Of course I have forgiven you already, Thor. But you mustn't deny me the time to run off some steam, will you?"

"You can be frightening even when you are making a jest," said Thor. He dropped the healing stone back into the pile. "You've brought so many."

"Heaven knows if Midgardian healing has at least improved enough to not do more damage than good nowadays," said Frigga. "It will not heal Loki now, for they are internal wounds than physical...but I have known too many instances when you two hurt yourselves in the strangest of situations. And if Loki tries healing anything in his state again, do me a favor and hit him across the head for me."

"Come now, Mother, we are not children," said Thor. "Don't tell me that you've brought rieska along with the stones in that satchel of yours for our mid-afternoon snacking."

Frigga raised her eyes reproachfully to Thor. "Let a mother do her doting. I've been denied of it for so long."

Thor cracked a smile. "And I have missed it for so long."

Frigga brushed Thor's hair back, her fingers trailing his face. Her eyes searched his and she pursed her lips.

"You've grown," she said. "In both mind and body. I can feel the weariness in both your mind and your skin."

Thor hesitated before giving an indifferent shrug and setting the healing stones back in their pile. "It has been a tiring many months, Mother."

"Many months?" said Frigga. "I feel years burdening you, Thor. Years that I know I would have noticed if I had spent them alongside you."

Thor shifted in his seat. He was never one to lie, nor was he adept at not telling the truth, as Loki was so prone to do. But how was he supposed to tell his mother that he had spent ten years in darkness lying in wait for Loki, when she had already been so distraught to find out he had run off without telling a soul save Heimdall about his quest?

"I've been on Midgard a long while, after all," said Thor.

"Not so long that Huginn and Muninn could find you," said Frigga. "Your father had sent them to search for you and your brother here, in the desperate hope that perhaps you two were somehow on Midgard, and they never brought us back news."

Thor felt a pang of guilt. "That was my own offense, Mother. Huginn and Muninn had found Loki and me—perhaps a month or so ago, even. I had requested that they would not give you word."

Frigga's eyes widened. "Why on earth would you ask of such a thing?"

"It is difficult to explain," said Thor. "But Loki...I do not think he was ready to be in contact with you or Father."

Frigga's face fell and she averted her gaze to Thor's hands. Thor bit down on his bottom lip and took her hands.

"You mustn't blame yourself," said Thor. "It is Thanos and his cruel antics."

"But I let Loki be taken away," said Frigga. "I would rather have tried to strike Thanos and die instead of what I've chosen."

"No!" said Thor. "Loki would not want such a thing. His heart is hardened, but he would never ask that of you."

"What if he cried out for me in his worst pain?" said Frigga. "What if he begged for me to come and I was never there to hear him, never there to hold him?"

"But he is here now, Mother," said Thor. "And so are you and I, and that is what matters. We cannot change what has already happened. What has changed in Asgard, Mother? What news?"

Frigga brushed her thumb over Thor's calloused fingers. "News I wished to escape."

"Is Asgard safe? Is she all right?"

"Only just," said Frigga. "Danger lurks underneath. There are attacks, from both outside and in. Treachery breaks out within our own castle, and your father fights to keep order in Asgard, to keep our people safe. No doubt the threat is from Thanos."

"Is the Gauntlet heavily guarded?"

"As heavily as we can, but I remember Thanos well. He would not let such a defense stop him, whether with battle or deceit."

"Does Thanos make a move that we are certain of?" said Thor. "Has he revealed his ploys?"

"Not for Asgard. Not yet," said Frigga. "But there are signs that his army makes plans to infiltrate Jotunheim."

"Jotunheim?" said Thor.

"Aye," said Frigga. "The queen had sent messengers to us, demanding to know if the occasional attacks on her people were from us. When she realized we too struggled with the same enemy, we realized then the dire implications."

"And what of Alfheim?"

"Silent as always. They denied entrance to our messengers."

"As per usual," said Thor. "Father must be up to his neck with distress."

"And what of you, Thor?" said Frigga.

"What do you mean?" said Thor.

"How are you?" she said. "Do not pretend that you did not suffer in the time you were far from home. I am your mother; I know you are hiding things from me."

"It is truly nothing," said Thor.

"A likely story," said Frigga. "Shadows haunt behind your eyes, Thor. Do not think me so foolish. Will you not at least tell me what had transpired with you, if I could not have been there with you?"

Thor stiffened. He did not want to be on the spotlight, not like this, not when his brother had suffered far worse and was still in poor health. But his mother held on to him so desperately and deep inside, a primal desire begged him to speak, to just let everything out.

"What is it, then, that you would like to hear?" said Thor.

"Everything," said Frigga.

Thor exhaled softly. It was a story of one of his escapades, a quest for the greater good, one that his younger self would have been dying to pursue, much like the stories of valor that they spun in songs—but it was the story that he wished would dissolve into silence.

"Heimdall took me to where I needed to go," said Thor. "I broke out of the Bifrost's path midway, so I could be lost within Yggdrasil's branches. It was...like nothing I've experienced before, the Void. It was colder than the deepest pit in Jotunheim, and yet the stars burned until I thought my bones would melt. And the sounds...there was no sound at all. Not a stir of wind, not a drop of water. Just my own breathing within my chest, until in my ears it grew louder than horns and I thought I would grow mad."

He felt nervous speaking of this—he had little trouble telling the truth, but to speak of his fears, his suffering, the moments he felt most lost? To reveal that he was far from the strong warrior all of Asgard thought him to be, expected him to be, _needed_ him to be? He could not afford fear.

But couldn't he be safe with his own mother?

"I could only move where Mjolnir could take me," said Thor. "And even then the folds of the universe was not so willing to let me move so easily. I felt it take me by the ankles sometimes, where I caught a snag in Yggdrasil, and crumple me into a ball and toss me aside, far from where I wanted to go. Sometimes it blinded the stars until I was in absolute darkness for—for what must have been four years, and I could only let the Norns take me where they wanted me to go. It would be so dark that my mind would play tricks and..."

(_And how Thor would howl just to fill his emptied self, to remind himself that he was still alive, still existing, that he would not let himself be swallowed by the darkness. How his mind would mold monsters from the shadows until he felt safe nowhere, until every turn made his heart cower because there was nothing, and within nothing was every fear, every possibility of horror, the pain of waiting to be frightened...)_

"Four years?" said Frigga, her voice faint.

Thor tentatively nodded. "Thanos manipulated Time within his realm—or lack thereof—so that three months in Midgard would have been my ten years."

"Ten years you were lost in the Void," she said, blanching.

"It is not as bad as it could be," said Thor.

"Not as bad? Thor, any time in the Void is awful. Do not brush aside your own suffering as if it never affected you when you have yet to heal," said Frigga.

"I do not need to ponder on my tribulations," said Thor. "You only asked that I speak of them."

Frigga opened her mouth to protest, but she eventually retracted her words. "What else have you gone through?"

"Hardly anything," said Thor. "Just silence and darkness and...loneliness. I saw not another living soul, only mirages of when I thought I found Loki, only to be stranded on a broken moon. No, the Chitauri did not find me, nor did Thanos ever look upon me. I was just...very alone."

He suppressed a shudder at the memory. Loneliness was not something he was accustomed to, much less solitude, and then he was locked in ten years in absolute isolation. Listening to nothing else's breathing except his own, seeing no real faces in the black, just pure and intangible nothingness. He wondered that if he lingered longer, if he did not by chance find Loki after the ten years, if it would have driven him mad.

"When I finally found Loki and freed him from the Chitauri, I brought him to Midgard, as it was the closest realm," said Thor. "Actually, he led me here. To Scandinavia, where our people once dwelt. He was...unwell, but my companions later found us and—after some miscommunication and compromise—aided us. I am forever in their debt."

But Frigga looked no closer to relief than she was before. Her eyes were colored with concern for her eldest, and Thor wished to shift away from her intense gaze.

"I wish you did not have to suffer so," she said.

"Nonsense," said Thor. "Loki suffered far worse than I did—"

"And you certainly did not experience a blissful walk in the gardens either," said Frigga. "You are so, so good to your brother, Thor, and I am endlessly thankful and proud for it. But do not deny yourself concern for your own well-being."

"There is nothing wrong with me," said Thor. "I have no scars, no injuries, no need for healing. Do you think Asgard would want a king that quaked at mere shadows and lack of company?"

"Do you think that you do not have the right to have fear? To have suffering?" said Frigga. "Yes, Thor, someday you shall be king, but you are a man, a person with just as much heart and hurt as any other. A king should not sacrifice the privilege of admitting his weaknesses."

"How will my people ever trust such a person?" said Thor.

"How will your people trust he who hides everything?" said Frigga. "No one is close to perfection. Not you, not me, not Odin, not Loki, no one. And Asgard should understand this. A good leader is not one who stands fearless and reckless. A leader fears—fears for his people, for his kingdom. He fears what dangers lurk in the shadows that could hurt anyone. He fears, but that does not make him a coward. It can make him wise, if he faces it with good heart."

Thor took in a deep breath. His raw, inner self squirmed from the scrutiny. They were wise words, his mother's—but to embrace them would not be so easy.

"I wonder if I would even make a decent king," said Thor.

Frigga lifted Thor's chin so that he would look up to her. "Of course you will, Thor," she said. "And you will grow to be all the better as you live."

She kissed Thor on the cheek, and Thor's face burned in bashfulness.

"You can be embarrassingly affectionate," said Thor.

"I nearly lost my sons, how could I not? I wish to have an eternity with you two, and will take every advantage of it."

"I'm sure even mortal mothers know when to stop treating her children like porcelain dolls," said Thor.

"A strange idea, since she has so little time with her children!"

Frigga swept the healing stones back into the satchel. Thor watched her, watched her gold hands move gracefully across the marble, a symbol of familiarity.

"Mother?"

"Yes, child?"

"What was it like for you when Father brought Loki home?"

Frigga raised her head to Thor.

"Father already told you, did he not?" she said. "He found Loki in an ice temple, brought him back to the castle—"

"Yes, that is his story," said Thor. "What is yours?"

A small smile flitted across her lips. "I fell in love with him the moment I saw him."

"Was he in AEsir form, or Jotun form?" said Thor.

She blinked before pressing her lips together as if in understanding. "Your Father had shown me his Jotun form when he brought Loki to me."

"And?" said Thor.

"And I was ashamed."

"What do you mean?"

"I was ashamed, because my first thoughts when I saw him as a Jotun babe was that he looked so much like an AEsir child. And I realized that very moment that I had unconsciously believed the Jotun to look like gruesome, emotionless creatures as war would have shaped them to be, even when they were at such an innocent age. The aged are never always wise, Thor. But when I held Loki for the first time, I loved him, and when I looked upon him the first time, I loved him even more, for he proved me wrong. He showed me there was nothing—nothing different between a Jotun and an AEsir besides the hue of their bodies and their preference of weather. Even the youngest of children could teach you the greatest lessons in life."

Thor smiled softly. "And I? When I first met him, what did I do?"

"Oh, you were no older than a toddler," said Frigga. "Full of curiosity for your little brother, you were! And so full of excitement. I do not think you truly comprehended what a brother was in the first place, but you learned so quickly and you loved him so dearly. I brought him to you, still swaddled in cloth, and you demanded to hold him and you wouldn't let go of him until the both of you were fast asleep."

Thor couldn't stop smiling just at the thought of it, even if he could not remember such an early memory. "If only he would put aside his pride and let us return to those days, aye?"

"Both of you have the pride of a lion," said Frigga. "But in due time...yes, he will find his path to healing."

She pulled open the satchel at her waist and pulled out a loaf of her homemade rieska. Thor gave a shout of laughter at the sight of it. Sitting together, and for the first time in a while, they both broke the bread and gave thanks.


	17. Chapter 17

**I combined this chapter with the planned next chapter because I am starting to fear that I was boring all of you with my long fluff/whump rants, so have a long chapter of aflaksjdf;laf what. Anyway, much longer chapter because of reasons, consider it an early Thanksgiving gift full of indulgence and binging. **

**Makes up for the fact that the next chapter will be seriously the strangest crack I've ever written for the Avengers. Take me away from the computer, someone.**

**On another note, check out my new AO3 story seen never before by either FFnet or Tumblr. Yeah, I think when I stay up to write, things get a little crazy in my head. **

**Also, Joe Hisaishi's compositions are the best things to listen to when you want to write for a lot of feels. That, and occasionally Coldplay. Mmm, yes.**

**To my American readers: Have a happy Thanksgiving! **

* * *

It took Loki a while to realize that he was breathing.

Each breath felt heavy against his ribs and took him much time to draw in air. He wished he didn't have to; it was so tiring, and he slipped in and out of consciousness just trying to take in air.

Then he realized that he was lying down, possibly on a bed.

He didn't remember this. He didn't know what he remembered, truly. Had he not spent his entire existence in this endless, senseless black, hearing and seeing nothing and—?

_Thor._

He remembered tattered cloth, shattered armor, blood. Thor. Where was Thor? Was he in this blackness? Was he gone? Loki did not know.

If Loki called, would Thor come?

If Thor would come, would Loki call?

He heard something soft, like a breeze that whistled in the tree leaves. He wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt so heavy and he was so tired. As he listened but could not understand, he became more aware of the heaviness in his limbs, the softness of cloth underneath and upon him. Something smooth and soft combing through his hair.

He took in a breath through his lips. The combing stopped and he wondered if he had done something wrong.

_Don't speak, don't you remember?_

He shrunk away, but he wasn't sure why.

_Come back to me, my child._

He knew that voice.

Where was Thor?

_Come back._

This blackness was so comforting, so safe, wrapping itself around him and protecting him. Why would he want to leave?

_Please come back._

Who would want him so badly?

The voice sounded so warm, so inviting, so unlike what he was used to.

Was it speaking to him?

Or was he eavesdropping?

Warmth. It was then that he felt it. Warmth around his body, warmth on his head. He unconsciously nestled closer to the unknown comfort.

_I'm here, Loki. _

Somehow, he knew.

With a shuddering sigh, he finally opened his eyes. The light from above his head made his eyes water, but they slowly acclimated as he lifted his eyes to the hazy face hovering above him. The edges of his vision were shadowy, fuzzed from unseeing for so long. Even so, he knew that face. He knew it.

Warm hands upon his face, and he wasn't sure how he felt anymore.

"Loki," whispered Frigga. "Oh, my son."

This was a dream. This was a vision. It was all a vision. The Chitauri must have put him in a trance again, playing false lives in his mind until he reawakened and realized that nothing was real and all that existed was the pain and shame of his existence. This couldn't be real. This couldn't.

But he could recognize the touch of her hands upon him from anywhere. He wanted to reach out and grab her wrists, hold them tight until the bones snapped and he would know without a doubt this was real. But he was still so tired.

She bent low to kiss him on the forehead and he wanted to scream. Wanted to push her away and disappear and never face her again. This was not what was supposed to happen—she was nothing to him and he was nothing to her so why did she insist on this mothering charade?

(And yet he hungered for it)

_You left me, _he thought. _You left me you lied to me and I did the same to you so why are you here? _

_Why?_

She was so warm and he wanted to fall asleep again.

_Is this real?_

He reached out a hand from underneath the sheets and gripped her wrist tightly, his long fingers wrapping around her arm.

She paused.

Was she afraid? Did she think he would lash out on her, bite her like a rabid animal she tried to aid, tear her apart like the monster he was? Did she think he would burn her with ice like the rest of his despicable, savage kind?

_Did you ever fear me? _

_Were you ever so disgusted to hold me?_

But instead of wariness in her eyes, there was only sadness and softness. He grasped her arm, feeling, realizing, understanding. She was here, she was real, and this _sentiment_—however skewed or unwise it was—this sentiment was irrevocably and wholly given to _him. _

Was love still real, did it exist?

(_He remembered a baby, wailing alone, and his heart shuddered—)_

"I was so worried about you, my son," said Frigga. She resumed combing through his hair with her free hand.

He wished he could hide, bat away that lying hand, but it was so comforting and he hadn't felt anything like it for nearly two hundred years.

"I don't know if you'll ever forgive me for what I've done to you," she said, "but know that I regret every hurt that I have caused you. If I could do it over again and make right my mistakes, I would."

_Then you would have never mothered me in the first place._

But he was still her child, and her words made his heart hurt.

He wanted to believe she didn't love him, believe that there was no going back for him, so that everything that he ever did in his rage and hatred was legitimized and not in vain, but he couldn't bring himself to accept this. Not when deep inside, where he was too afraid to admit it, he feared such a truth far more than a love he could not understand.

_You lied to me and I betrayed you. There is no trust between us. What is love if there is no trust?_

(Forgiveness, my son. There is forgiveness)

How he wished he knew how.

It took him just now to realize that he could feel her magic steadily pouring into him. Panicked, he let go of her wrist, pushing both her hands away. What was she doing, wasting her magic on him?

(Why did he care?)

But Frigga only took both his hands gently in hers and kissed his knuckles like she once did when he was young. He would have pulled away, but he couldn't bring himself to. Deep inside, beneath the layers of anger and hurt, he could not quell the raw hunger, the desperate need for Frigga's love, even if his mind could not wrap itself around it to believe it. His darkened thoughts and bitterness could not stop him from feeling so inexplicably alone.

"Let me heal you, Loki," she said. "Whether in mind or body, any way I could."

_It's useless, it's pointless, there's no hope_.

But he knew that she knew already yet refused to stop. He held her hands with his weak fingers, overwhelmed and exhausted.

"Loki," she said.

_Don't you hate me for what I've done?_

"My son," she said.

_Don't you despise the traitor you once held?_

"I always love you."

Loki did not know if he understood what that word meant anymore, but something within him starved for it and took it in with unmatched gratitude.

He squeezed her hands and this, for now, was enough.

* * *

When Thor heard that Loki was finally awake, he raced out of the room, nearly breaking a hole through the wall in the process. Nothing stood a chance between him and Loki's room, and he was certain that several tables and chairs had suffered for standing in the way.

He cared not. The moment he reached Loki's doors, he burst through them, breathless, desperate.

Loki raised his head slightly from the pillow. IVs were connected to his wrist but other than that no wounds were visible. As if he had only been sleeping this whole time, despite the unhealthy pallor of his skin and the green eyes wide with shock at the sight of Thor.

Thor froze at the doorstep, catching his breath. Loki stared at him, an unidentifiable emotion brewing behind those green eyes. When Thor slowly took a step toward him, Loki stiffened and he forced himself into a sitting position. He was biting down on his lip, his eyebrows furrowed and jaw tense. Thor took this as permission to come forth, so he did.

"Loki," Thor said.

Loki's gaze was stony and he bit down so hard on his lips they grew very pale. Thor carefully sat on the edge of Loki's bed, not taking his eyes off of his little brother.

"Are you all right?" said Thor.

Loki did not indicate an answer. His hands closed into a fist. Thor could almost already feel the strikes against his chest, his face, everywhere where he knew he deserved.

"Mother is resting, but she would want to see you again," said Thor. "She wouldn't let herself stop healing you for as long as she could."

Loki closed his eyes and Thor could see him swallow. Thor bowed his head, suddenly ashamed to look at Loki.

"I'm so sorry, Loki," said Thor. "You have no idea how much I regret saying such untrue and cruel words to you."

Loki drew his knees up to his chest; he gripped his knees as if he had to control himself from striking out against Thor.

"You are no monster," said Thor. "Frost Giants are not monsters. They never were and they never will be. No more than an Asgardian. The only monster that ever existed is the monster I was against you."

Thor could see Loki's fingers tense on his knees from the corner of his eyes. He spoke on, feeling as if he was stripping his flesh with each word; honesty always felt so shameful.

"I had never treated you as well or respectfully as I ought to in our youth," said Thor. "Whatever cries of help you made, I turned a deaf ear. I know I made you feel angry, hurt, disappointed, everything no one should entice in their brother, and I regret nothing more. It was I who was quick to judge you when the Chitauri took you, and I delayed your rescue until I realized the truth. I was the one who hurt you and then it was I who—"

Before he could finish, Loki raised his hand and punched Thor on their shoulder. Thor jumped at the sudden and unexpected reaction, looking up at Loki's steely face. Loki's eyes shone with anger and frustration, his thoughts shining so brightly behind the green irises that Thor almost thought he could hear Loki speak again, despite not hearing his voice for what felt like thirteen years and counting.

_You're an idiot, _said his eyes. _You're an idiot. You just almost died for me and you're an idiot. _

Thor felt himself smile even though it hurt.

"To be fair, Loki," he said. "_You _almost died for me as well."

Loki withdrew his hand, his gaze not softening even a mite. Thor sighed softly and shifted a little closer to Loki. Loki did not make any sign to protest, but he did not welcome this either. He turned away, absentmindedly tracing circles on the metal arc on his chest.

"I thought I lost you," said Thor. "I was so afraid I would lose you again."

A twitch of the eyebrow.

_Did you mourn?_

"I don't know what I would do if you were to actually—if you were to actually lose your life because of me," said Thor. Those words were so difficult to utter even if they were not the truth this time. "If you were to have given up your life because of me, or if you were to suffer for my sake, I would never forgive myself."

Loki narrowed his eyes.

_You waste yourself. _

Thor pursed his lips.

No, brother, he thought. Never a waste.

"Loki," said Thor. "Do you doubt my love for you, or do you reject it?"

Thor knew he would rather have Loki reject his love than to doubt it, and it hurt his heart to understand that he had every reason to.

Thor placed a hand hesitantly on his own chest, where the Chitauri's weapon nearly blew a hole through. Where ought to be torn skin and powdered bones were instead strong and intact flesh and muscle. Even a healing stone would not have been able to undo the damage, and Loki performed it with only half of his full capacity.

"Your magic was exceptional," said Thor. "I…thank you, brother. For healing me."

Loki did not appear to have heard.

"If it weren't for you, I would have been dead," said Thor.

_If it were for me, you'd still be dead, _said Loki's eyes.

Thor shook his head. "And I would not regret it. What I said was true. I swore to protect you, not because of obligation or duty, but because…because you matter to me so much, and you're worth all those pains and tribulations."

Shock. Disbelief. Suspicion. Thor was getting better at reading Loki's silence.

"I speak the truth," said Thor. Loki turned sharply, his eyes wide. "Even with what has come between us, you deserve safety. You deserve peace, you deserve happiness, you deserve love."

_Not death? _said the quirk of the eyebrows.

"Not death," said Thor, his voice soft and fragile. "More than anything, I want you to live. So you can find your peace and rest again, find your love, your joy…even—even if you do not return home to Asgard—our family—to me."

The words made his heart and tongue sink, but he let them fall from his lips anyway. If he could be the one to help Loki, to bring him back to the light, he would ask for nothing else, but he knew that he could not force himself into Loki's redemption or recovery. In the end, his brotherhood with Loki was dear and precious, but Loki himself needed his healing in the best way he could, even if it left Thor out.

"I want to help you and be a part of your life again, Loki," said Thor. "But your pain runs deep and our past, as golden as I thought them to be, is riddled with our faults. _My _faults."

Loki bowed his head so Thor could not see his face. Thor reached out a hand to grasp his shoulder but Loki raised his to stop him, meeting him halfway.

"I know that in the millennium we were brothers, I have wronged you, and you have grown to hate me," said Thor. "But know that all that time, I loved you ceaselessly, wholly, and I was a fool not to show it."

Loki's hand tensed.

"If you—if you so wish it," said Thor as his voice began to shake. "If you so wish it, let us start from the beginning. Over again, without memory of the past. Even memory of our brotherhood that you deny and I desperately cling to. Because I _want _to be your brother, to bring you back to the family again. But I want nothing more than your happiness—your own path to true peace and acceptance, Loki. If our family you once embraced brings too much pain…too many wrongs, I'd rather you start anew with us however you wish, meet us like strangers who want to be your closest companions and let time start over. So long as you mend, both mentally and emotionally, then I want nothing more…even—even if you do not want me to be a part of it."

Why do you say this, he asked himself. Why?

_Because he is my brother, and I love him._

"Loki?" said Thor.

Loki kept his head down, staring at his hands curled on top of the covers. No part of him moved a single millimeter and for a moment Thor had questioned if he had petrified into marble in the meantime. Thor wanted to hold him, but he stopped himself, he pulled back—it hurt to do so.

"Is…is that what you would want?" he said.

Before Thor could say anything else, Loki crawled toward him and rested his forehead against Thor's shoulder, his hands holding Thor's elbows. Thor nearly jumped back, shocked, but he stayed absolutely still, afraid that any sudden movement would drive Loki away like a frightened bird.

_Stay, _said Loki's hands that squeezed Thor's arms. His dark head rested against Thor's neck, just a hair underneath his chin. _Stay._

Thor wanted to cry—out of joy or emotion, he did not know. He held Loki tight, and while Loki's shoulders hunched at the still unfamiliar sign of affection, he did not pull away. Thor could feel his heart break inside and rebuild again, break and rebuild, like a phoenix among flames. His brother, his lost brother, was reaching a hand to come back.

"Oh, Loki," Thor whispered, holding Loki close.

And that was all he could say.

* * *

Clint paced across the board room again and again—he was never much of a pacer, nor was he even one to fidget, but he felt all his frantic energy bubble in his fingers that if he didn't move it would erupt from his pores like a volcano. He could feel Natasha's eyes on him as he tried to disguise his pacing with admiring the posters of Stark Industry's booming business that Tony plastered all over the walls ("For moral support for the workers, of course.") or flicking off a piece of dust from the blinds. He was never much of an actor, and it didn't surprise him when he would let his gaze pass Natasha and see her skepticism.

It itched within him—he didn't want to call it fear or suspicion or even wariness, but he knew it was a combination of all three. It itched on the back of his head until he scratched it vigorously as if he could feel eyes watching the back of his skull. It itched in his chest until he would look down occasionally, fearing to see a metal scepter pointed to his heart and sucking his loyalty.

This was stupid. Loki wasn't supposed to be a threat anymore. Him being awake changed nothing; he was still powerless, still weak, still mute. And all the other Avengers were in the room so if anything happened—no, nothing would happen. There was no possible way he could—

The door slammed open and Clint spun around, his hand jerking towards his absent bow. It was only Steve coming into the room. Clint tried to pass off his sudden movement for scratching his back. Even Steve frowned confusedly at him and Clint berated himself.

Logic. When fear was in the same picture, logic was powerless.

He glanced at the woman sitting at the boardroom table and he pressed his lips into a thin line. He could see a little bit of Thor in her, in the golden hair and strong jaw, but her calm and almost foreboding form resembled Loki. She looked a little drained from her healing sessions with Loki, but she still struck potency in her poise.

Thor and Loki's mother. Clint still had a hell of a time trying to grapple with that in his mind. It was difficult to imagine Thor and Loki as children, much less in need of a mother, yet one existed and here she was. She kept a calm countenance, but he could see the lines of worry in the corner of her eyes and lips. Truthfully, since she arrived this was the first time he saw her; for the days she spent in Stark Tower, she was always in Loki's room to mend his wounds. She already looked so much older in the span of those several days, but at least relief softened her face now that she knew Loki was awake.

"We've got something of a working pseudo-arc reactor for Loki," said Tony. Amazing, he wasn't sitting in an awkward position on the chairs or table anymore—probably to put up a better impression in front of the Queen of Asgard. He stood at the front of the room, drawing up a hologram of the new arc reactor he and Bruce designed. "So far it seems to be effective in curbing effects of gamma radiation when we test it, but we haven't actually tried—you know—putting it on him and trying it out."

"What's wrong with the thing on him now?" said Clint.

"That old thing?" said Tony. "That barely does half the job. That was the barest prototype I could come up with between the testing and when Loki got himself nearly killed. It kept the Mind Gem dull enough that it wouldn't eat up his life, but apparently it's still doing damage."

"Are you feeling better, your highness?" Steve said to Frigga. Frigga offered him a small smile and nodded.

"The Mind Gem's power is not curbed," said Frigga. "While your device has done a good job in keeping the Mind Gem from devouring Loki's life, it still stirs like an offended beast. I fear that should it be given the chance, it will rage even more forcefully."

"Are you saying that the Mind Gem has a—well, a mind of its own?" said Bruce, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Magic is not completely like what you Midgardians consider science," said Frigga. "While your science functions as ours on Asgard, magic takes a step forward. It is more volatile, unpredictable, and manipulated, like a stallion barely broken."

Clint couldn't help but wonder if Tony and Bruce's efforts in creating this arc reactor were all just a waste. By the look on Tony's face, Tony was most likely wondering the same thing. He rubbed his forehead, his teeth gritted in frustration.

"God, I hate magic," said Tony. "Okay. Okay. No problem. So, how many other times has anyone sewed up this—what's it called again?—Infinity Gem into someone's body? Maybe we can get a little pointers, word of advice, a blessing."

"Never," said Frigga. "To mutilate both a living being and an artifact like the Infinity Gem in such a way is damaging. The Infinity Gauntlet is the only object that can truly hold the power of the Infinity Gem; nothing else could ever hold it and expect to remain unaffected, or expect that the Gem will function properly."

"Well, its current function seems to like to take Loki and whoever's touching his chest through a magic carpet ride of horror," said Tony, casting a glance at Bruce. Bruce shifted uncomfortably when Frigga turned her gaze questioningly at him.

"Loki showed us the Gem in his chest," Bruce said, rubbing the back of his head. "But when I touched it, it felt—like I didn't exist, and I was in Loki's head. I think I was in Loki's head, because I heard voices I definitely know I never heard before, but at the same time they sounded familiar. And they weren't talking to me, but to Loki."

"Bruce looked like shit when he got out of that too," said Tony. "As if the Mind Gem decided to feed off of him as well."

Frigga furrowed her eyebrows. "Then the Mind Gem's purpose has been corrupted indeed by this damage."

"What is its usual power?" said Clint. He felt his vexation double its already rising level. Why did these godly people or whatever they were have so many gadgets and toys full of so much Ultimate Power that they could spell out doom for the rest of the world if used by anyone?

"When alone or in the Gauntlet, it gives the bearer the power to access the minds and dreams of anyone," said Frigga. "It may also expand the power of one's mind. Should it be coupled with the Power Gem, its ability multiplies."

"Whose bright idea was it to make these things?" Clint said under his breath. Natasha gave him a sidelong glance and he sighed, looking away.

"Sounds simple enough," said Bruce, "but now the Mind Gem's doing more than that. It's feeding off of Loki, probably because Loki isn't like the Gauntlet and therefore can't contain the Gem. Now I'm not sure how probable it is to use something like an arc reactor to stem its powers."

"You say that _after_ we designed it?" said Tony.

"I'm not saying it's impossible," said Bruce. "Just that if it doesn't work…well, I wouldn't be surprised. What the Gem is doing to Loki isn't because of its powers, but because of its state."

Clint glanced out the window again. He had envisioned this conversation in the boardroom to go a little differently. For one, he did not expect to have a full blown conversation (or at least, listen into one) about Loki and his supernatural mishaps. He scoured the faces of everyone else in the room, only to realize that he was probably the only one having these sentiments.

Did everyone just accept it so unquestioningly?

"It's going to work," Tony said, enlarging the hologram as if maximizing the view by five hundred times would prove his point. "We saw the records, we saw that there were unprecedented pikes in the energy going on in Loki's body that wasn't necessarily his magic. His magic level and the Mind Gem's activity level are like derivatives of each other; if the Gem has actual recordable data, then that means my machines can detach its energy from the rest of Loki's. If a machine can do that, then with proper mechanisms we can design something to comb through all that and suppress _that _particular source."

Clint could never understand how Tony could go from a snarky—for a lack of better words—asshole to a scientific genius in five seconds flat.

"I understand that," said Bruce. "But I'm just concerned."

"Concerned about what?" said Tony.

"That this—this capping thing might do something drastic. We didn't think anything bad would happen when you guys put on the magic cuffs that one day you first found him in Norway, and then you said it nearly killed him."

"That's because the Gem switched from his magic to his life after his magic was capped."

"Which was completely unexpected until we found out the details later," said Bruce. "What I'm trying to say is that how do we know that the Gem won't pull another crazy stunt like that if we try to inhibit it? What if it has a failsafe? If the Gem does all that to Loki just because he tried to perform magic, how much worse can we expect from it if it detects that someone's trying to completely cap it? I don't know about you guys, but when I'm thinking of this I'm envisioning cesium dropped into water."

"Like a time bomb," Natasha said, biting her lip.

"I'm sorry—what happens when cesium's in water?" said Steve.

"It goes boom," said Tony, spreading his fingers apart. He turned back to Bruce. "As far as I'm concerned, magic and science need to work hand in hand. Elements can't just change into gold for no reason—the world doesn't work that way. Even magic has to have an explanation. Listen, this is our biggest shot. We try it out anyway, all right?"

"You guys are expending a lot of stress and effort for this," Clint said.

"Yeah, well, we are," said Tony, raising an eyebrow at Clint as if to ask what his point was. "I still haven't beaten that guy in a prank war and I'm not letting him win just because he croaked."

"You have a strange way of admitting friendship," said Steve.

"Guys, do you mind if I ask something?" said Clint.

No one seemed to have heard him.

"He turned my butler into a music man, I am so not finished with him yet," Tony said.

"Look, Tony, we've got to put this into perspective," Bruce was trying to say. "You can't deny that magic has qualities that seem to bend the rules of science—"

"Are you boys really not going to look at the big picture?" said Natasha. "Shouldn't we consider more on how to get the Gem out of Loki and away from Thanos instead of how to treat the symptoms?"

"Guys, there's something that still doesn't make sense," Clint said, raising his voice.

This time he could tell that Frigga was watching him expectantly; at least he had an audience of one so far. Everyone else remained completely unaware.

"If it was purely magic and purely inexplicable, then would my machines have caught a whiff of it?" said Tony. "Just because it's mumbo jumbo and it's Loki doesn't mean it's made of complete bullshit."

"Tony, stop and think—"

"Guys!" Finally everyone heard Clint over their melee and turned to him, startled. Clint gritted his teeth, his irritation starting to get the best of him. "Is no one going to ask how the Chitauri knew to find Loki on Earth, much less in the middle of New York City, when they're supposed to be light years and light years away?"

The silence was overwhelming. Steve leaned back in his chair, biting his lip in contemplation. Bruce rubbed his temples, at a loss of words. It was Tony that gave a heavy groan and plopped himself on the corner of the table.

"I mean," Clint said, raising his voice, "last time the Chitauri needed an entire portal to get to Earth, like some wrinkle in time gig. They're apparently not so close that they could just fly here on their own, and yet a platoon of them shows up and nearly takes down a corner of New York City."

"The Chitauri have extremely advanced technology," said Frigga. "Even without a portal, they would have little trouble reaching Earth with their own machinery."

"Then how did they know how to come to Earth?" said Clint. "Is there a tracking device of theirs on that Mind Gem inside of him that they can tell where he is?"

"That doesn't sound impossible," said Steve, resting his chin in his hand. "It isn't, is it? If Thanos wanted the Mind Gem to use for the Gauntlet, but still wanted it in Loki to—to torture him even more, he'd make sure that if Loki ever tried to run for it or anything he'd still be able to get back the Gem easily."

"It does not seem likely," said Frigga. "The Infinity Gems originally belonged to Asgard before they were lost. If the Gems had such magic, we would have utilized it. That is," she added with a grim tone, "unless Thanos was able to manipulate the Gems in such a way that _he _would have its power even if he does not yield it."

"Why didn't he come himself?" said Clint. "From what I'm getting about this guy, he just wants to kill everyone; he could have killed two birds with one stone if he came himself."

"Thanos slaughters to satisfy his obsession with Death," said Frigga, her voice grave. "He would have wanted to present his sacrifices to her more lavishly."

"Wait…Death is a person?" said Steve, his jaw dropping.

"Death is a _woman_?" said Tony.

"We are unsure ourselves," said Frigga with a wry smile. "However, whatever Thanos thinks he has fallen in love with is, he is obsessed to the point of willingly killing entire realms to win her favor."

"This guy's absolutely insane," said Bruce. "Why does everyone that wants to blow up the world have a mind like a box full of cats?"

"Great," said Clint, running his hands through his hair. "Okay. So we have a lovesick warlord coming over any minute to grab that Gem out of Loki and then use it to destroy everything in existence. Okay. We can do this, no problem. Okay."

"How did no one even notice those ugly bastards coming into New York City anyway?" said Tony. "I feel like some crazy person would have called the police if they saw their UFO flying around the city."

"The Chitauri are shape-shifting creatures," said Frigga. "They must have pulled on the appearance of mere mortals to hide among the crowd."

"Jiminy cricket," muttered Steve. "How do we know there aren't more of them out there?"

"Hopefully they saw our victory and took the hint," said Tony.

"They knew New York though," said Clint. "Of all the places on Earth, they knew New York. Sure, they must have remembered that was where the battle was, but they wouldn't expect Loki to run there for refuge, considering he nearly flattened it."

"Nor would they expect him to return to Asgard, or at least attempt to," said Bruce. "After that whole—well, you know." He cast an apologetic glance at Frigga, who pursed her lips.

"Maybe they knew Thor would be the one to save him, if anyone did," said Natasha. "And that Thor had an alliance with the people here and would seek our help."

"For all the Chitauri knew, Loki and Thor could be those archetypal enemy brothers that don't give a shit about each other," said Clint. "Unless—unless Loki spilled the beans about us and Thor to the Chitauri—"

"You mean to say Loki revealed vital information about Earth?" said Frigga.

"Isn't it possible?" said Clint. "It's too coincidental that the Chitauri knew where to find him. Obviously he wouldn't expect to be at the short end of the stick if he talked, so he'd say anything." He looked around, expecting anything but the stony looks of doubt that glared at him. "Am I the only one who thinks this might be the case?"

"Look," said Tony, his voice curt. "We know how much you hate Loki's ass, but—"

"Is that what's up?" said Clint. His anger flared and it took much self-control not to throw a chair against the wall. "Is that what you think it is? You think I hate the guy, and that's the only reason why I might suspect that he'd have told the Chitauri about us?"

He turned beseechingly to Natasha—surely she would understand, or at least not assume. Her face was unreadable as always, but he knew better than anyone else how she thought, and his stomach fell at the realization. For a frantic moment he questioned everything he ever said, ever did, ever thought.

"Are you all serious?" he said. "Okay, I get it. I know I'm the only one who's still pissed at Loki for all that he's done. I know that. But that sure as hell doesn't mean that everything I say about him is fueled by that—that hatred. Just stop and think—this guy's been through a hundred or so years of pure torture. Don't you think that somewhere in there the Chitauri would have tried torturing information out of him, and he was driven so out of his mind that he consented? Did you ever think I was thinking _that _when I was suggesting the possibility?"

He could feel their eyes frozen on him, but his anger made his skin sear so that their icy stares felt like nothing to him. He understood that he was a bad person, he did—but did they truly think that every move he made, every thought that went through his head, every word he said about Loki was purely out of detestation and nothing else?

"Well, just to clarify, I was," said Clint, his teeth clenched. "People will do anything to stop the pain, even if it means telling secrets they shouldn't talk about. I know, all right? I'm an assassin, I make people do these things. I _know._"

"Clint," said Natasha. "I know. We know. No one's accusing you of anything."

He wished he could believe her, if only he didn't understand that she too thought those things about him just minutes earlier.

"Can't say I believe that one this time, Nat," said Clint, sitting down in a chair. He couldn't help but groan inwardly. Now he made himself look like a complete asshole in front of Thor and Loki's mother, for God's sake.

Steve rubbed his chin and sighed. "You're right, Clint. We can't rule out the possibility and you're right. I'm sorry for thinking otherwise. But even if Loki did give us away, whatever it was, the most we can do is keep our defenses strong and keep calm. There's nothing we can do to punish or to prevent what's already passed."

"Okay," said Clint, even though he did not feel it. "Okay."

He rose from his seat and made his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" said Steve.

"I need a beer," said Clint, not looking at any of them. "We're about to go head to head with shape-shifting, super technologized lizard aliens with a psychopathic lover for a commander. If that's not a reason to get drunk, then nothing is."

He left the boardroom but did not go directly to the kitchen. Instead, he lingered in the hallway, his back against the wall as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Trying to iron out his wrinkled thoughts. Trying to bleach his stained conscience.

He felt vibration in his pants pocket and he fished his cell phone out. A text message from Natasha. It read: _Are you okay?_

He couldn't help but give a wry smile.

_I'm fine. Getting a beer._

He shut off his phone before he could receive the inevitable text of her probing the lie out of those words, or maybe an underhanded apology. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

He could still feel how his mind clumsily fell into place after he was broken out of Loki's mind control. The dawning horror when he remembered the violence he committed against his own fellow agents—his own friends. The sense of pain and even betrayal of being controlled to hurt others.

Idiot, he chided himself. Idiot. Why can't you get over this? Why are you so weak?

He thought of Natasha and her blackened past. Of Tony and his career of creating weapons. Of Bruce, who quite literally smashed Harlem. Of Steve, who fought a war. None of them were guiltless, but all of them were making good use of their lives, moving on from their crimes and doing spectacular things for others. Did they still toss and turn at night trying to shake off the still vivid memories of the blood they shed? Did they feel like nothing they could ever do could make amends?

(_"It wasn't your fault," Natasha once said to him. "It was all Loki, he controlled your mind and he forced you to do all of it. It wasn't you. This was nothing like what we were trained for."_

_But Clint remembered that it was _his _mind that chose to shoot the gun at those agents, _his _mind that willingly pulled back the arrow towards those people, _his _mind told him that he was doing the right thing. The only difference was how easily his heart switched its loyalties._

_"They're all heroes!" the enthusiastic survivors had cried into the news reporters' cameras as the television depicted the aftermath of the battle. "They're heroes and they saved our lives."_

_Clint recalled those words for many nights until he felt sick in his stomach and locked himself in the restroom. If he was a hero, then perhaps he didn't want to believe in them anymore.) _

* * *

Tired. That was what he was—he was tired. It hung heavily on his bones and made his limbs sag. Loki had forced himself out of his bed already, deciding that letting both Frigga _and _Thor witness him bedridden was far enough for one day. But he could only let himself droop into a nearby chair, his body still tender and drained as it tried to gather twice as much magic to sustain himself.

Frigga. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. Frigga and _Thor_—of all the people in the Nine Realms. How they frustrated him—_confused _him—and yet, his heart ached at the thought of them in such a way that reminded Loki of hunger. Of craving for affection.

He swallowed hard. Affection. It couldn't be trusted. It was golden fleece stretched over eyes, it was the kiss on the cheek before the execution. It was hiding in the dark craters waiting for poison to crawl into him.

He realized that for a moment he was holding his breath and he squeezed the armrests. Thanos couldn't find him here. Thanos could not reach him here.

But the Chitauri found him—was Thanos close behind?

Loki opened his eyes and stared down at his white hands. They were gaunt—skeletal, almost. Not nearly as strong and quick as they once were. He balled them into fists and reveled at how his bones shook as he did so.

Pathetic. He gave himself a very cold smile. Hopeless.

And yet, they were hands that Frigga took so gently and kissed. They were the hands Thor held so tightly for who knew how many times in their millennium together. They were hands that killed, that hurt, that played tricks and lied, and yet upon them they received that love that was so intangible and yet so soft.

He brought his fingers to his lips, wondering if he could taste the metaphorical blood. If he could wipe away the guilty spots. They were cold, the barest tremor still running down the bones.

So weak, he thought. So weak, and yet to Thor and Frigga, so treasured.

Did it not matter to them?

Did anything matter to them?

He let his hand fall to his neck and he squeezed. His temples ached as his airway was blocked. He had an iron grip on his own throat, siphoning out the air from his lungs until the muscles in both his palm and his neck seared.

He wanted to laugh.

Never weak. These hands have done too much to be weak.

He remembered bloodstained rocks, and he would have squeezed tighter if the door did not open.

He immediately let his hands fall to his lap, staring aimlessly out the window as if he had done nothing else. The steps that entered were tentative and he wondered if the person saw. If they did, they turned a blind eye.

"Nice to see you awake again."

He turned to face her and he bowed his head in acknowledgement. A smile played upon his lips; he couldn't help it. Agent Romanoff was too intriguing to ignore.

Natasha stood before the door, her arms crossed. Her gaze on him was meticulous, searching for the most minute of details to use against him, no doubt. He saw how her eyes lingered on his reddened neck. They flashed briefly but she said nothing.

"Mind if I sit down?" she said.

He raised his eyebrows and waved a hand. She was the one who said she could sit wherever she pleased, was she not?

She gave a crooked smile and settled herself on the edge of Loki's bed. She crossed her legs, leaning back slightly, to the point where her professionally stiff posture became nothing but casualness.

Loki noticed there was a scar running down her cheek. It looked rather deep, the skin welting just slightly. He tapped his own cheek questioningly. She raised a hand to trace it.

"It wasn't painful," she said. "It'll just be ugly for a while. But Bruce said it won't be permanent."

Was it from the Chitauri attack? Loki furrowed his eyebrows and scooted his chair a mite closer to her.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. Why did she ask?

"I'll take that as a sarcastic affirmation," said Natasha. "You were unconscious for five days, you know."

Five days, was it? Well, it wasn't as long as it could be. He recalled a time when Thor had a terrible mishap in Muspelheim and didn't wake for nearly a month. The memory of it still soured in Loki's stomach, and the thought of raging fire still sent cold chills down his neck.

"I never expected that out of you, you know," she said. "Risking your life to save Thor."

He bit down on the tip of his tongue. He knew she was driving this conversation further, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to be there when she reached the end.

"Not saying I expected you to be a solely bad person," said Natasha.

Why not?

"But I thought you would have some level of self-preservation to tell when you reached your limit," she said.

_It's Thor, _he thought with a crooked smile. _His being awakens the martyr within everyone._

She must have delved into his mind because she snorted with laughter. "I bet you'd even start a war over him," she said.

Loki rolled his eyes. Warfare was more of Thor's specialty, despite whatever past experience she had with Loki.

He turned his head and saw the book that he had been reading prior to the Chitauri attack sitting innocently on the nightstand. He frowned; he certainly wasn't reading it during those five days, so why was it here? He lifted t from the table, skimming through the pages. He could feel Natasha watching him closely as he tried to find the place he left off. He knew he never finished it, so why was it that when he reached the end of the play he felt as if he had already knew everything?

"I sort of read it to you while you were unconscious," Natasha said. Loki lifted his eyes to her perplexedly. She shrugged and looked down at her foot tapping on the floor. "I figured you would be bored and I wondered if you could hear me. I guess you could, sort of."

Loki stared at her; the book slipped from his hands onto the ground. Suddenly, he felt very small in the too large room upon the too large realm in this too large universe. It didn't make sense; why did she do it? Why did she care to read to him?

Natasha slipped off the bed and bent down to pick the book off the ground. Just as she rose, Loki gripped her wrist. She stiffened, her eyes defiant and yet questioning as they fixed themselves upon him. Loki held onto her tightly, demandingly, desperately, searching for a lie or an answer on her face.

_Why? _

He wasn't a fool. He knew that out of all that were in the tower, it was only Thor that helped Loki for the sake of Loki. Everyone else saw it as a favor to be paid for Thor, a duty that they needed to accomplish to rid themselves of a debt, to send him far away as soon as possible. Not because of Loki, not for Loki.

Right?

_Do you care?_

He didn't dare to ask her this, even in his mind. He never dared to ask anyone this. He had always thought he already knew the answer, but now he wasn't so certain anymore.

_Do you care?_

And yet it was a question he craved. The question whose answer he wasn't sure he wanted to hear, and yet the question he needed to know. What drove the apathetic Black Widow to waste her time and breath on him?

"Are you thinking of hurting me?" she said. She had not tried to tug her hand away from him.

Loki hesitated before loosening his grip on her wrist. She pulled herself away, carelessly tossing the book back onto the nightstand. She sank back onto the edge of the bed, her eyes glinting with unreadable wisdom.

"Are you that disbelieving?" she said.

He wished he could read her as easily as she seemed to read him, as if he was not a body but a never-ending scroll of words that she could pluck off with her eyes.

He found himself nodding. He didn't understand why. Truth was not his forte; it was not his privilege.

Her pink lips stretched into a half-smile.

"So am I," she said.

He sucked in a sharp intake of breath. A tremor ran down him.

"When you first came around, a month or so ago," said Natasha. "I didn't want to take you in. I didn't want anything to do with you. But Thor wanted it and we owed him, and Fury wanted me to talk to you to make sure you weren't hiding anything from us."

Loki thought he had suspected this already, and yet he couldn't deny that it hurt somewhere deep inside of him.

"Then after a while, I thought I was making old mistakes again," said Natasha. "I thought I was wiping red from my ledger, helping you. Making myself off as a better person. Stooping low, even though I was on no higher of a level than you, if not lower.

"But you know what? Hang it all," she said. He hunched his shoulders slightly in surprise, pursing his lips in confusion. Her eyes were so firm, so steely with certainty, that they earnestly riveted him. "I am fooling myself if I think that's still the case. Even if it kills my pride or my usual way of doing things. I like to lie to myself, but I can't trick myself."

He raised his head higher, bracing himself for what he had thought would be impossible.

"When you get hurt, I get angry," she said. "When you're sad, I feel this heavy weight inside of me dragging everything down. When you're happy—or as content as you can be, even if you won't admit it—I can breathe a sigh of relief. Why? Hell, I never thought I would say it, but it's true. I care about you. In some inexplicable and unexpected way. And like hell am I prepared for that."

She gave a small laugh and rested her elbows against her knees. Loki breathed in, his heart beating wildly. He only just realized that she could perhaps be the first person outside of his family (_family? Not family? Family?) _that ever admitted care for him like this. His heart throbbed—it was an enthralling kind of pain.

"That's what I wanted to say," said Natasha, staring at the window behind Loki's head. "Just to make sure you're all better and everything—and to get my book back. So don't go running off and doing something that will hurt yourself because if you do, I'm obliged and very willing to kick your ass for making me worry about you."

She rose to her feet and picked the book back up from the table. Before she could turn to leave, Loki caught her elbow—gently, carefully. She stopped and looked back at him, looking at him straight in the eyes.

She was always a proficient liar, he remembered. She had outsmarted him easily. What made now any different?

His fingers jerked back slightly at the possibility, as if he had touched something too hot.

_Please don't lie to me._

_Not about this. _

He looked deep into her eyes, into her mind and her soul, into the part of her she had forgotten had existed—

And saw no lie.

He thought that if he could die this very moment—for the first time in a very long time—he knew he would be sorry of it.

Because she was not bound by the past or by blood, she was no longer obligated or guilty, because she had nothing to gain or lose—and yet she cared for him.

He let his fingers fall from her sleeve. She offered him a small smile.

"You should try leaving the room on your own sometime soon," she said. "Let the others know you're alive and all, you know?"

When she left him alone, he could still hear her voice. Still feel her warmth in the room. Still felt the strength of her wrist in his fingers.

It felt…safe.


	18. Chapter 18

**For all the Steve fans out there, I'm very sorry. I have no idea how to deal with him, so you got a hyperactive puppy that ate a bag of pop rocks for Captain America. I'm so sorry (THAT I'M NOT SORRY). **

**I literally have no idea what happened to me during this chapter. The whole story is all depressing and not fun and then somehow this chapter was like LOL I'MMA TURN INTO A CRACKFIC. I'm sorry guys, but I had to. This chapter was being REALLY difficult, so I sort of started stressing out halfway and so here you go. However, I'm very serious when I say that this OUGHT TO be the last filler chapter needed. Everything's going to be bam bam bam bam. **

**I was THIS close to not publishing this chapter. THIIIIS close. Seriously, it went from re-writing the entire thing to scrapping that chapter and then thinking of not having a Team-bonding/cute lighthearted chapter in general. Then I got stressed out and went YOLO and here you go. So please don't leave this story on account of this chapter. I was not in the right headspace and I don't exactly have the time to rewrite it...**

**I admit, most of the chapter, I was like, 'The Avengers are full-grown ADULTS, would they really be doing things like this?' Then I look at interviews of the cast and I was like, '...Yeah they would.'**

**But yeah, if you've got a gist of my writing style, I normally never write carefree things like this! But that's because we are dwelling in the eye of the storm.**

* * *

There was one state of being that Loki did not miss while he was with the Chitauri, and that was boredom.

Granted, it had only been several days since his bodily wounds healed and his mother bade them goodbye to return to Asgard. Odin, she said, was up to his neck with looming threats of outside attacks and she was to be at his side during such unpredictable times. While Loki didn't wish to see her go, as reluctant as he was to admit it, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. He needed time to process everything, and her presence confused him as much as it soothed him.

"You will take care of yourself, all right?" said Frigga. Her eyes were red at the prospect of leaving her sons again for the sake of Asgard. She cupped Loki's face in her tender hands and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "My heart will not stop worrying for you two, but it will be at least eased if I was assured that you and Thor will look after each other."

Loki smiled wryly at her comment, doubting that anything would remotely soothe Frigga after knowing what shenanigans her sons had been up to these past several months without her knowing. Regardless, she gave him and Thor a tight squeeze of a hug before stepping out into the open space of the outer deck, fading with magic to their home.

But if looking after Thor required following him everywhere, Loki was doing a terrible job. Loki never attempted to leave his privacy since. It wasn't that he did not grasp the sense of freedom; in fact, he'd gladly embrace it if only he had a single idea of what he was doing. The books that Natasha gave him were well read and spent, JARVIS was tampered with at least twice every three hours, but he soon came to realize that above all he was generally the only person in the room. Clint and Natasha were busy with SHIELD duties constantly, Tony and Bruce were still working on that arc reactor as they called it, Steve was still trying to prove that he could outdo Dummy (although occasionally he'd try to entertain Loki with crude, Midgardian magic tricks, which sooner made Loki clasp his forehead than anything else), and last Loki checked, Thor was taking a five day nap the moment Frigga left.

Loki would leave a cup of coffee outside of Thor's door each time. Unbeknownst to him, Thor more often than not tripped over the mugs, and Steve was becoming more adept in washing coffee stains out of carpets.

Interaction. Loki always considered himself an introvert of sorts, or at least not as famished for attention as Thor once was, but this silence he dwelled in was so stiff and unyielding that he vaguely wondered if they had forgotten about him. Everyone except Pepper, at least, who would bring him food and talk to him every now and then, and sometimes she'd help him alleviate his boredom by assigning him to arrange Tony's paperwork. He obliged, only because it was Pepper and she was kind to him, and she turned a blind eye when he printed scandalously photoshopped images of Tony onto the back just to give the playboy billionaire the occasional cardiac arrest when he felt particularly sadistic.

Which was why Loki had finally pulled himself together and snuck out of his room, wandering aimlessly through the winding hallways and trying to figure where the hell he was.

Shame that he had programmed JARVIS to behave like a sobbing, angst-ridden teenager two hours ago so that now Loki couldn't ask the butler for directions. It was amusing to hear Tony's reaction two floors below him, though.

But truly, Stark's tower was enormous. Nowhere near the halls of Asgard, whose ceiling reached as high as the moon, but winding and labyrinthine like a multi-headed snake coiled into a tube. Loki couldn't imagine what one man (with no drop of royal blood, no less) could possibly need such an abode, but Loki eventually reasoned with himself that Tony's bullhorn of a voice and large head of brains and cats were enough to fill all the rooms.

The moment that he heard voices down the hallway in the sitting room (the one where his face was smashed into, of all places), he paused. Suddenly he had every desire to retrace his steps and burrow in his designated room again, just to avoid the eyes latching on him and the voices speaking to him, about him. He remembered how he once buried himself in books, in studies, in anything else except socializing whenever there were banquets or balls hosted by the All-Father and he brusquely questioned himself why he thought this moment would be any different.

"We just have one more thing to finish up with the reactor," he heard Tony say, "and then we're finally done. So give me that bottle, Pepper, because if this isn't a reason to celebrate, nothing is."

"Funny how you were never so celebratory about any of your other creations before," said Pepper with a laugh.

"That's because he wants to get rid of all the freeloaders in his tower," said Clint's voice with a snort.

"Not true," said Tony. "I like my company. But this baby's going to kick magic in the ass, is all."

"Yeah, your company's great," said Clint. "By the way, how's JARVIS?"

Loki could hear Tony groan. He unconsciously edged closer to the room, back still pressed against the wall.

"He was blubbering nonsensically last time I tried to get him to check our stocks," said Tony. "God, if Loki wasn't a full-time supervillain, I'd hire him into the industry like that." He smacked his hand against the counter for emphasis.

"He isn't a supervillain. Come on," said Pepper.

"You only like him because he does your paperwork for you," said Tony.

"Correction—he does _your _paperwork that _you_ ought to be doing, Mr. Stark. And he doesn't dance drunk in front of national television."

"That was only twice, Pepper. Twice."

"Two times more than I ever needed. Where's everyone else? I thought you wanted some sort of get-together."

"I _do_, but everyone is apparently a lazy ass and won't show face anytime soon. Or is snoring."

"Thor woke up this morning."

Loki perked up slightly at the mention of Thor. He edged closer until he was just around the corner, listening.

"That guy doesn't nap, he hibernates," said Clint.

"After all he's been through, he could afford a wink or two of sleep," said Pepper.

Loki could hear the clinking of glass and ice.

"Looks like your scotch has run out," said Pepper.

"What?" said Tony. "No, no, no. That can't be it. Not my scotch." A rattle of glass. "Oh. I guess it is."

"Relax, there's probably more in the storage room down the hall," said Pepper.

"Right, right," said Tony. "Wanna get that for me, Barton?"

"Oi. I'm not your Dummy."

"You get first dibs of whatever other bottles I have in there."

A beat. "Fine. There better be more than just a single bottle of scotch."

Loki heard approaching footsteps toward his corner. He would have backed away, but found himself rooted in the spot with apprehension. Just as he made up his mind to at least _move_, Clint immediately turned the corner, finding himself a mere inch away from Loki's face.

"Holy _shitballs_!" Clint jumped back, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground, his hand to his chest. Loki jumped back as well, eyes widened as he retreated back into the dark hallway. "What the flying _hell_?"

"What the heck is going on?" said Tony, moving toward the hallway. He stepped over the fallen Clint to peer out toward the hallway. When he saw Loki shrink back in the shadows, he waved. "Oh, finally see you walking about, Prongs."

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks for asking," Clint said, kicking Tony's ankle to make him trip. Tony hopped on one foot, steering clear from Clint.

"Bruised your bum, Barton?" said Tony.

"You're getting your own damn scotch," said Clint, pushing himself into a sitting position. "And you—" He pointed to Loki, one hand still on his panicked heartbeat. "Don't—_do _that, for God's sake."

"Hi, Loki," said Pepper, pointedly ignoring the men squabbling in the background. "Come on in."

Loki took a tentative step forward, poking his head around the corner. Pepper gestured for him to sit on the couch next to her. Keeping a wide berth from Clint and Tony (Clint was repeatedly trying to trip Tony as Tony danced out of the way), Loki seated himself cautiously on one of the cushions.

"Want anything to drink?" said Pepper as if they had been fast friends longer than they had been enemies. "We don't really have scotch anymore—" She raised her eyebrow toward Tony's direction. "But we still have something to offer."

Loki shook his head. He continued to make a point not to receive any drink from Tony's tower, even if his pride was at this point far beyond salvaging.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," said Steve as he came through the hallway. His eyes landed on Clint and Tony and he looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or to gawk.

"Pay no attention to the idiots on the floor," said Pepper. "How've you been all day, Steve?"

"Got back to some sketching," said Steve. "Oh, oh! And this. Hey, Loki, look at this."

Loki frowned perplexedly as Steve sat across from him eagerly. The moment Steve pulled out a deck of cards from his pants pocket, Loki had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. If only Steve wasn't so genuinely excited about it, Loki would have a much easier time mocking him.

"So I admit, that last torn card trick I showed you yesterday wasn't that impressive," said Steve. "But this time I think I got something that'll amuse you."

Loki decided that it wasn't the best choice to inform Steve that everything he did was amusing, though probably not in the way Steve would have liked.

"Okay—so, take the card on the top of the deck. Don't show it to me, but you can show it to everyone else," said Steve, presenting the deck to Loki. Loki raised his eyebrows before taking the top card.

The Joker. Well, if this magic trick was all staged then Steve had a cheesy sense of humor.

"Do you remember it?" said Steve. "Okay, now just put it on the top of the deck again."

Loki slid the card facedown back on the top. Steve nodded approvingly.

"Okay, for the next part, can I ask you to stand up from your seat, please?"

Loki glared at Steve. Was Steve questioning Loki's ability to stand? He stood up immediately.

"Good, good," said Steve. He dealt the top ten cards face down on the coffee table. "Now, put your hand on top of those so that they won't move, all right?"

Loki placed a hand upon the cards, bending down slightly to reach the table. Steve stepped to the side so he could deal a card onto Loki's seat.

"Abra cadabra!" Steve said, wiggling his fingers over the one card. When he saw Loki shooting a very bewildered look at Steve over his shoulders, Steve added, "I'm using magic words to make the top card switch and teleport."

If this wasn't besmirching the nature and respect of the ancient and most noble art of sorcery, nothing was.

"Alakazoom!" With a flourish, Steve tapped the card on the chair. "Okay, you can lift your hand from the cards now."

Loki withdrew his hand from the pile. Steve flipped over the card on the couch; the Joker stared brightly back at Loki.

"Is this your card?" Steve said.

Loki narrowed his eyes and nodded.

"Magic!" said Steve.

Loki frowned. He held out his hand expectantly. Steve placed the Joker in his palm. Loki narrowed his eyes, inspecting every corner. Well, there certainly wasn't a trace of magic on the card, and Steve was a mortal after all, so Steve couldn't possibly have performed wizardry to accomplish this…

"Pretty cool, huh?" said Steve, looking like a pupil desperately eager to please his mentor.

Loki flicked the card with his finger. There certainly wasn't a curse on the card either, so that was out of the question.

How _did_ Steve do it?

"So, where the hell are the others?" said Tony, hopping on an uninjured foot.

"Thor's still on the phone with Jane," said Steve. "Bruce said he wanted a little bit of quiet time first."

"Wha-a-a-at?" said Tony. "He's foregoing more bonding time with us?"

"To be fair, he has to put up with you for the whole day for the past several weeks," said Clint, getting off of the ground.

"If I can do it, so can he," said Tony. "What about Natasha?"

Loki looked up briefly before returning half of his attention to the Joker. If Steve had no magic, and this wasn't another of his optical illusions or mathematical pattern tricks, how did he do it?

"She'll be around in a moment," said Clint. "She almost didn't come. Said it would be too unprofessional if our fellow agents were working and we were in your living room playing video games or something."

"Neither of you are on duty anyway," said Tony. "So what are we thinking tonight? Movie night? I think we need a movie night in this tower."

"No," said Steve with a scowl. "Not this time. Let's do something else."

"Come on, you're just still sour that I made you think 'Inglorious Basterds' was a documentary. I'll have you know that it was worth it."

"Not funny, Tony."

"Thor and Loki-Dokey haven't experienced the wonderful thing called cinema yet," said Tony. "Ow!" Tony hadn't time to move out of the way before Loki threw a card at him. "You need a nickname, and 'Loki' is just too easy to work with."

"You kids can do a game night," said Pepper, grinning.

"No way," said Clint. "If we play Scrabble, Thor's just going to pull some Swedish word out of his ass and win five hundred points with 'Eyjafjallajökull' or something like that."

"That's Icelandic, but you were so close."

They heard the elevator doors part down the hallway and soon after Natasha and Thor arrived as well. When Thor saw Loki at the couch, his face brightened so warmly Loki thought he would grow blind.

"It's good to see you with us," Thor said, clasping a warm hand on Loki's shoulder. Loki couldn't find it in him to shrug it away; he hadn't noticed how chilly it was in the room. He stole a brief glance at Natasha; she gave him an approving nod.

"Yeah, now that I think about it," said Clint. "Did you ever actually invite him?"

"We are now," said Tony. "Hey, Loki, wanna be awesome? Yes? Okay, good." He nodded approvingly before Loki could even turn his head to face Tony. "How's your little lady, Thor?"

"Stressed with work, but she is doing well," said Thor with a smile. "Your communication device of 'Skype' is a blessing indeed. I had missed seeing her face and hearing her voice."

"I'm telling you, just give me the word and I'll arrange a nice private jet to fly her over here. Keep love alive and yada yada, you know?" said Tony.

"Thank you for the offer," said Thor. Loki felt Thor's gaze flicker nervously toward him and he pretended to shuffle the cards instead of listening in on their conversation.

"Let's start with something to eat because I'm starving," said Tony. "I want something packed with worthless calories."

"We are _not _ordering fifty cheeseburgers for your own pleasure again," said Pepper.

"Cheeseburgers are good. Haters gonna hate," said Tony. "What's everyone feeling? Chicken wings? Ribs? Please don't tell me something fancy schmancy because I had a corporate lunch yesterday and I'm still drowning in limoncello vinaigrette and braised oxtail."

"Oh God, your life is so hard," said Clint.

"Sunflower seeds for you? Okay," said Tony, pretending to write on his palm like a waiter. Clint threw a pillow at Tony. "What about you, Natasha?"

"Anything that's remotely edible," she said. "Actually, I could go for pirozhki right now."

"_I like to be in America, okay by me in America!_" sang Tony. Natasha snorted. "At this rate I'm ordering shawarma again."

Everyone except Thor and Loki groaned.

"Come on, Loki hasn't tried it yet," said Tony.

Loki cast a glance at Thor.

"It is a Midgardian cuisine," said Thor. "We—er—the others and I had it a while back."

"Actually, can I try something?" said Natasha. "You have a kitchen on this floor, don't you?"

"Yeah, down in the other room. Why?" said Tony.

"I want to make some syrniki," said Natasha. "America, I love you and all, but your cuisine could use a lot of work."

"What's this syrniki?" said Steve.

"It's like a Russian fried doughnut and pancake hybrid," she said. "Goes well with honey."

"Holy shit, I heard the word 'fried' and I fell in love," said Tony. "Make some. Please."

"Whoa, you're going to cook? You? Cook?" said Clint.

"I'm going to drag all of your butts to help me because like hell I'm serving you," said Natasha. "Or, you know, you could go with the carrot sticks left in the fridge."

"I shall aid you, Agent Romanoff," said Thor. "I know my pancake skills are not as prominent as your Midgardian chefs, but I shall do my best."

Natasha laughed. "You'll be just fine, Thor. Any other takers?"

"I'll help with the eggs," said Clint.

"You'll tell us what to do, won't you?" said Steve.

"Unless you have the confidence to completely wing it," said Natasha. "You've got cottage cheese in your place?"

"We probably do," said Pepper. "Here, Tony, go take them to the kitchen. I'll find the scotch."

"Aye, aye," said Tony. "You coming, Loki?"

Loki stiffened slightly, forgetting that he was part of the conversation. He gave a jerky half-shrug, still surprised that they had remembered him.

"Well, come on then. You're working for your food too," said Tony. He frowned. "Well, I mean, if you want to eat it."

Loki hesitated. He didn't expect to be roped into this when he stepped out of his room.

"Come on," urged Natasha, and without another word followed Tony to the kitchen. Loki hung back behind the others, slightly stunned and wary. Before he turned the corner, Clint looked back at Loki. His eyebrows furrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Loki swallowed, knowing all too well the animosity the archer had for him. In the back of his mind he wondered why everyone had walked away so quickly.

"Well," said Clint. His voice made Loki hold his breath. "You're invited. So are you coming or not?"

Loki blinked, not expecting that response in the slightest. Before Loki could affirm, however, Clint ran off, disappearing around the corner. Loki followed, keeping several paces behind the others as they trailed into the kitchen.

"All right, let's get to work, people," said Natasha, flicking on the lights to the spacious kitchen. Loki could never understand why Tony had so many fancy kitchens when he never saw the man cook even an egg. "Wash your hands, I'm not getting germs because of you guys."

"Yes, Snow White," said Clint, turning on the faucet. Natasha pretended to kick him in the rear.

"Stark, get me some cottage cheese, eggs, sugar, vanilla extract…what was the last thing again? Right—some salt and oil."

"Can I have pecans in mine?"

"Clint, this is not exactly a nutty dessert."

Loki procured himself a safe place near the kitchen island, far from the action as Tony chucked boxes of ingredients out of the refrigerator.

"Come on, Stark, carefully," said Natasha, straightening the ingredients on the kitchen island. "Thor, can you mash the cheese with this fork into this bowl?" She passed an empty plastic bowl and the cottage cheese to Thor. Thor took it with a vigorous nod before emptying the carton of cottage cheese into the bowl and decimating it with the fork. The fork bent immediately on impact.

"That was actual silverware too," said Tony.

"Midgardian silver is so flimsy," said Thor, straightening the prongs.

"Don't tell me that even elements are different on Asgard because of magic."

"Focus, Tony," said Natasha, oiling a pan. "You can have your science debates later, when someone actually cares. Combine the egg yolk, sugar, vanilla, and salt for me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you didn't even tell me how much of each," said Tony.

"You're a scientist. You can figure out the chemical reaction," said Natasha, rolling her eyes. "Don't you know how homemade comfort food never has proper measurements?"

"What if I made enough to make like, ten thousand batches of these pancakes?" said Tony. "Then will you regret it?"

Loki watched Tony warily, wondering how exactly the man fed himself properly all this time. He made a mental note to treat Pepper to a very long reward of relaxation one of these days.

"On second thought, Steve, you do that," said Natasha. "Three egg yolks, five teaspoons of sugar, one teaspoon of vanilla, and a pinch of salt."

"Ah—okay," said Steve, awkwardly taking the ingredients away from Tony. Tony threw his hands up in the air in resignation.

"Get some flour, Stark," said Natasha. "Clint, make sure Thor's not killing anything in there."

"I am doing nothing wrong," said Thor as one of the prongs of the fork flew off.

"Loki, want to watch Steve?" said Natasha.

Loki bit the tip of his tongue before shrugging, edging a little closer to Steve. Steven gently nudged the bowl between him and Loki as he carefully measured the sugar and vanilla.

"He's not going to go ahead and add chili powder secretly into the mix, is he?" said Clint. "Because if I eat this thing and find that there's like, rabbit poop in it, I'm going to kick his ass."

"You really want to do that when he has practically two bodyguards?" said Tony.

"Whoa, when did this happen?" said Clint.

Even Loki glanced skeptically at Tony. More for the fact that Tony assumed Loki _needed_ bodyguards in the first place, if no one counted the last predicament with the Chitauri.

"Yeah, Point Break, and the Other Guy. Bruce was telling me apparently the Hulk's got a soft spot for Loki ever since he beat the shit out of him. Like a kid insulting his sibling and going into a fit because someone else did it too."

"We're all doomed."

Loki almost snorted with skepticism. The day the Hulk had a 'soft spot' for him was the day Thor renounced his warrior ways and vowed to spend the rest of his days sewing drapes in a carriage drawn by goats.

"Na-a-at, Thor broke the fork again."

"Thor, goddammit, do I have to send a bill to Asgard?"

"I promise you, I did not mean it!"

"Have you boys never stepped into a kitchen properly in your entire life?"

"Do you want to break the eggs?" Steve said to Loki over the commotion, offering an egg.

Loki wrapped his fingers around the cool oval. It was light in his hands, but rather large, fitting snugly in his palm. Truthfully, he never cooked in his life, and only watched the cooks back in Asgard when he was a child.

"Let me do one first," said Steve. He gently rapped an egg against the edge of the bowl. Hair-thin cracks splintered the middle and he gently pried the shell open, spilling the yolk from it. "You do one, now."

Loki gripped the egg with his fingertips. Knock the egg against a surface, pour out the yolk. It wasn't so hard, was it? He took hold of the bowl and rammed the egg against the edge. His fist was too forceful and the egg crushed against the bowl, splintered shell and yolk oozing from underneath his palm.

Suddenly, Loki felt very hollow and nauseous. He stepped back, his hand still slick with runny yolk and shell.

"You don't have to do it so hard," said Steve with a gentle laugh, unaware of Loki's discomfort. He used a spoon to scoop out the scraps of eggshell that fell in. "Next time, just a little lightly, okay? Loki?"

_Bloodstains on stone, and a gentle head._

His hands were so sticky, and he imagined that they were stained sanguine than a filmy yellow. He swallowed hard and suddenly he felt as if it was not blood that ran through his veins, but sludge—sickly, poisonous sewage.

_You have nothing to be afraid of._

He tore himself from his own mind and raised his eyes to Steve, who eyed him concernedly. He flashed a quick, practiced smile and turned is back on Steve to wash the yolk from his hand in the faucet. His mouth suddenly felt very parched, the back of his tongue sour.

"You okay, Loki?" said Steve.

Loki nodded and turned back, a polite smile on his face. He knew how to play charades.

"Clint, want to mix that for them?" Natasha said as she measured the flour in a plastic cup.

"Got any more forks?" said Clint.

"No. You are not abusing more of my poor forks. There's got to be a whisk somewhere," said Tony. He opened several drawers, trying to find the elusive whisk. "Dammit, I don't cook enough to know where any of this shit is."

"You are the kind of people that communists hate," said Clint.

"Whisk away, baby," said Tony, finding a kitchen aid in one of the pantries. Clint rolled his eyes and poured the cottage cheese and the egg mixture together, beating them until it was a frothy, yellow pool.

"Loki, what are you looking for?" said Steve.

Loki was creaking open every cupboard, scouring the shelves for a proper glass. Most of the cupboards were empty, with not even a cobweb to fill its void. His stomach turned more tumultuously and he nearly hit his head with the cupboard door.

"What do you want?" said Tony.

Loki pressed his fingers against his pale lips. He thought he could already taste the coppery, sour memory on his tongue and the hollow sensation strengthened.

"Oh, he's thirsty." Tony reached over and pulled open one of the cupboards, extracting a tall glass. "What are you thinking? Bourbon? Whiskey? Vodka?"

"I think he just wants water," said Natasha, eyeing Loki.

"Oh fine, go the healthy route." Tony poured water into the glass from the refrigerator dispenser (what _was_ that strange Midgardian invention anyway?) and handed it to Loki. Loki bowed his head as he received it and drank the water greedily. The ill feeling subsided, but his head still pounded.

"Can we watch a Disney movie after this?" said Tony.

"I just went through an entire Disney marathon thanks to Clint. No more," said Natasha.

"Oi. Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it," said Clint. "I know for a fact you almost cried during 'Brother Bear.'"

"Lying is a sin, Clint."

Loki couldn't help but smirk; Clint's accusation held a weight of truth in it.

"I'm thinking 'The Incredibles,'" said Tony.

"No way," said Clint.

"What? Come on. Don't tell me that the Frozone guy doesn't remind you of Fury."

"Exactly why I don't want to watch it. One Fury is enough."

"Barton, are you even watching the batter?"

"Why would I need to—?"

Before he could complete the sentence, the KitchenAid mixer whisked out of control and sent a third of the batter splattering all around them. Clint yelped and dropped to the ground to avoid a glob that flew toward his head. It instead slapped Loki right on the cheek.

"Turn it off, turn it off!" Tony said, using a pot to shield himself from the spluttering mixer. Steve hurriedly yanked out the electric cord and the overpowered whisk slowly ceased, the counter splotchy with lumps. Clint rose to his feet cautiously, eyeing the mixer as if it would come alive again and vomit all over him.

"On second thought," said a voice at the door, "maybe I'll go back to the lab."

"Bruce!" said Tony, throwing his hands up to welcome Bruce. Bruce's glasses were bespattered with cottage cheese. When he removed them, the look of purely humorous exasperation shone in his eyes.

"Stress free indeed, Tony," said Bruce, wiping his glasses on a paper towel. "So, how did a genius, some master assassins, two Norse gods, and Captain America of all people fail at baking?"

"It was Clint's fault. He wasn't watching the mixer," said Tony.

"No one told me it was going to work itself up like that!" said Clint.

"Who thought it was a good idea to let you guys become adults?" said Bruce.

"It was all Natasha," said Tony.

"It was a good attempt," Thor said, staring at what batter was left in the bowl.

"Nothing compared to the fiasco that happened in Vienna, right, Clint?"

"Really? I remember it going really well."

In the end, Natasha forced all the men to step away from the cooking supplies and watch her correctly mix the flour into the batter. The way she carefully formed the dough into neat circles vaguely reminded Loki of when Frigga would show him and Thor how to make rieska in their youth. He could have sworn that their fingers moved in the same way.

"Then you just estimate the time you leave them on the pan and you've got yourself syrniki," said Natasha, placing the dough patties onto the hot oil. They sputtered in frying delight on the pan and she covered them with a lid. "Tony, have you got any honey?"

"Is it only good with honey?" said Tony.

"Well," said Natasha, wiping down the counters. "I personally think it goes best with honey."

"Lavender-infused, German, eucalyptus, or wildflower?" said Tony, opening his pantry. Loki craned his neck to admire the round jars of richly gold honey on the shelves; they almost looked as if they emitted their own light.

"Again, you are the reason why communism will never work," said Clint.

"I'm going with wildflower," said Tony, pulling out the glass jar of honey. "Here, catch."

He tossed it to Loki, who instinctively caught it with the tips of his fingers. Loki raised the jar to eye level, peering at everyone with honey-colored glasses. Tony's face was horribly distorted behind the thick current of honey and he chuckled silently. Tony pulled funny faces on the other side of the honey jar, contorting his reflection even more until Loki nearly doubled over in mute laughter. He couldn't understand why he found it so hilarious, but it had been so long since he had any reason to smile that the smallest things sent him in a fit of grins.

(Behind him, Loki did not see Thor's eyes shine with emotion. He did not see Natasha hide a smile as she fried the syrniki, nor did he see Clint look away and try to distract himself with cleanup, ridden with uncertainty. He did not see Bruce watch him carefully, almost sadly, as if he understood the dramatic irony Loki was unaware of)

When the syrniki was done, Natasha swiftly distributed one each on a plate like a blackjack dealer, lathering healthy dollops of honey on each. Everyone gave their thanks and devoured the Russian snack, all equipped with a tall glass of milk that Steve insisted on.

Loki watched everyone dig in, suddenly feeling very out of place. It only just occurred to him how he was at this very moment in the same room with the very people that he had tried to ruin years ago, the ones that he threatened and fought, and now they were treating him as if he was more or less their docile prisoner. No handcuffs, no guns pointed to his face, no threat looming over his head. He was startled for a moment when he realized that he had almost forgotten what life was like without being a prisoner.

Or at least, he thought grimly as Odin came to mind, not being aware of it.

"Hey, Loki," said Natasha.

He looked up. Natasha nudged a plate to him. The syrniki was plump and steaming still.

"Waste not want not," she said.

He stared at it. The honey was oozing over the edges.

He could feel Thor's and Bruce's eyes on him.

"We all made it, remember?" said Natasha.

He glanced at her hands, then to her face.

But she was resolute, if not stubborn, so he gingerly took the fork and broke off a small piece of the syrniki. It crackled underneath the fork like autumn leaves, but the inside of was soft and creamy, dyed amber from the honey. He brought it to his lips.

_(It's not real.)_

_(No. It is. And that's okay.)_

He took a bite, chewing slowly. The honey coated his tongue and his mouth felt light. Natasha watched him expectantly, tapping her fingers on the side of the honey jar. When he swallowed, she leaned forward.

"Well?" she said.

He took another bite instead of answering, and she laughed.

"Well, what do you know," she said. "The prince of Asgard likes commoners' food."

"This is commoners' cuisine?" said Thor. His syrniki was already reduced to crumbs doused in honey. "I would never have realized."

"Why the hell is everyone in this room so damn rich?" said Clint, helping himself to seconds.

"Don't lie, Barton, you enjoy having rich friends like me," said Tony. "JARVIS tells me you sneak into my Jacuzzi every night."

"Whoa, what have _you _been asking JARVIS to do for you?"

"Well, JARVIS, is functioning like an angsty and most likely horny teenager because of a certain someone…"

Loki smirked before finishing the rest of the syrniki. Thor looked as if he had stumbled upon great treasure, his eyes positively glowing.

"Would you like another?" said Thor. "There is more on the pan, quite a lot more—" In his flustered excitement he nearly tipped the entire pan of syrniki on to the floor. Steve steadied Thor immediately before the sweets could become casualties. Loki shook his head, pushing his plate into the sink.

Tony managed to convince everyone to proclaim this night as a 'movie night,' which Steve did a relatively questionable job of trying to describe to Thor and Loki what exactly a movie was ("It's like a play, but not. Like, it's a play captured in the same way a painter makes a portrait of a model. You know?"). In the end, everyone curled around the large black screen of fascinating moving pictures portraying the story of war among the stars.

Loki had seated himself right next to them—it was an unconscious decision, something he didn't even think of pondering out beforehand. The moment he found himself between Steve and Bruce, he tensed, realizing exactly what it was that he had done. Who was he to pretend to embrace them like friends, much less acquaintances, and mingle their presences together?

But Steve had turned and smiled at Loki and even Bruce seemed to not mind (there was no sign of the green beast, anyway), so Loki let himself lean back against the couch, relaxed and content to watch the moving picture.

He did not understand the movie very much, and he could not for the life of him figure out where the mortals could find such alien creatures in the Nine Realms for their arts, but for once he found this to be relaxing—relieving—sweet. He thought himself to be happy, and what more, he was happy among _them_—the ones he was sure hated him.

Hadn't he once been so certain that there wasn't a single person among them that didn't wish him dead?

But now, when he dreamed, he did not hear hisses as he had feared, nor did he see shadows too tangible or monsters too familiar.

He dreamed nothing at all, and he was at peace.

* * *

"Guys."

As the credits rolled at the end of the movie, everyone was stretching their cramped limbs and rubbing their eyes. Bruce tried to keep his voice low, even when Thor gave such a satisfied groan as he cracked his back that the coffee table must had vibrated.

"Guys, inside voices," said Bruce.

"What's up, Bruce?" said Clint, stretching his legs.

Bruce nodded toward the floor. Between him and Steve was Loki, curled up against the front of the couch, his head resting on the cushions, fast asleep. His right arm was curled underneath his head as a makeshift pillow, the other draped limply across his body to the floor.

The others quieted immediately, turning to see. Thor offered a smile at the sight of his slumbering brother.

"He hasn't fallen asleep on his own for a long time, has he?" said Thor.

"No," said Bruce. "He hasn't."

"You want to take him back to his room so we don't trip over him?" said Tony.

"He's a very light sleeper," said Thor. "I'm afraid I would wake him, and he must be very tired."

Thor crawled over to drape a throw blanket over Loki. Loki shifted in his sleep, but remained blissfully unaware.

"Are you just going to leave him outside of his room?" said Clint.

"He'll be all right. I'll stay with him," said Thor.

They were silent for a moment, overwhelmed by the wee early hours of the morning. The honey had long crystallized and flaked away from their lips.

"Maybe he's getting better," said Steve. "Not just physically. Maybe emotionally."

But Bruce shook his head, to everyone's surprise.

"It might be an improvement," said Bruce. "But it's not complete. Not even close."

"How do you mean?" said Thor. "Does he not feel safe and content enough to sleep in our presence?"

"Sometimes, when the body's had enough, a person doesn't have a choice to sleep," said Bruce. "I won't deny that he probably feels a little better around us than before, but he's still scared of something. Or ashamed, or scarred, or something."

"What makes you say that?" said Clint.

Bruce bit his lip.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Bruce. "He won't even let himself make a sound when he wants to laugh, of all things."

The silence was telling. The silence was stiff, and the silence mourned.


	19. Chapter 19

**The responses I got for the last chapter were so so kind. Thank you so much for dealing with my freaked out A/Ns and for liking the last chapter :'D.**

**The wonderful Nelapsi drew me beautiful fanart! You can find it on her dA under the name 'thenelapsi' here: art/Syrgja-340632828 . Or you can see a link of it on my profile. You guys have no idea how happy you all make me. The fact that you guys enjoy my story so much really really lifts up my spirits. Just...thank you. So so much.**

**This is the longest thing I've ever written. EVER. I think that where I am in the writing, I'm about five or six chapters away from the end. However, since the actually updated story is SUPER SUPER behind me, y'all seriously have about more than twenty chapters to read or something after this...**

**Ahh, we are in finals mode...this is my cram week. Good luck to everyone else who has finals! **

**Oh yes, a guest asked what exactly Loki is wearing during this story. He's wearing clothes that Tony went out and bought for him from the Muggle (I mean Midgardian) world. He's very fond of dark jackets and scarves. (I admit that I generally picture him as how Tom Hiddleston looks in his interviews when he still had his black hair, short hair and all, as Loki had his hair cut somewhere in the first chapter.)**

* * *

_"These tears we cry__  
Are falling rain  
For all the lies you told us  
The hurt, the blame!  
And we will weep to be so alone  
We are lost  
We can never go home…"_

_—Gollum's Song_

Tony would have guessed that Loki was nervous if he didn't look so annoyed by all the SHIELD agents around him. He couldn't blame Loki, really; all the pair had to do was walk into the SHIELD headquarters and them bam, a whole onslaught of security guards had their guns pointed straight into their faces. A mark of a true Undesirable No. 1 if Tony ever saw one.

"Oi, Fury," Tony called out, standing on his tip-toes to try to look over the agents' heads. "Nice welcoming committee, but I thought I RSVPed on time."

"At ease, agents." The guards reluctantly lowered their weapons and stepped out of the way as Fury approached them. Loki stiffened beside Tony, but Tony elbowed him in the side. "I thought we agreed on a couple things, Stark."

"We did." Tony lifted the metal briefcase to Fury's face. Fury glared at his own reflection on the sheen. "I made the arc reactor thing that was supposed to help Loki, and you wanted me to install the finished product at the headquarters. What else did you ask for?"

"SHIELD and you agreed that he would have his magic bound, Stark," piped up Agent Hill at Fury's side. Tony only just realized how murderous her glare was and he legitimately could not tell if it was directed to him or Loki, if not both. "He's a threat with his full potential."

Loki rubbed his unbound wrist protectively. Tony waved a hand dismissively.

"If he wanted to turn all of New York City into a blob of ice cream, he would have done that already," said Tony. "As of right now, the lactose intolerant citizens of the city are blissfully at ease, so I don't think that's the case."

"War's not a battle of speed, Stark," said Agent Hill. "It's a game of timing."

"Look," said Tony. "Unless he wants to kill himself again, he won't use magic. I don't think Thor would be too happy that you're demanding he'd be bound up like a rabid dog just for skipping into your headquarters." He turned to Loki. "No offense, Prongs."

Loki looked as if he would have rolled his eyes if it wasn't beneath his dignity.

"Get what needs to be done," said Fury. "And get it done quick."

Tony nodded. This was it; finally, he could prove to himself that he knew the answers, magic be damned. The arc reactor, should it be successful (of course it has to be successful, he was Tony goddamn Stark for goodness' sake, and he wasn't called a genius for nothing), would make nothing impossible. Magic, with its confusion and unpredictability, was no more a threat than anything else.

"All right, Loki, unbutton your shirt for me, okay?" said Tony. He crouched and set the briefcase onto the floor, unclasping the locks to open it. The newly designed arc reactor was like a new pair of shining, loaded die to a gambler; it made his heart skip a beat with excitement and nervousness. Its certainty was still uneasy, yet everything was on the line.

"Sir, I thought we agreed to put him in the barracks when the reactor is to be fitted on him."

Tony perked up at the sound of the hushed confession. He pretended he heard nothing as he busied himself with preparing the reactor, keeping an open ear as he listened in on Hill whispering into Fury's side.

"I've had Barton reporting in daily about Loki's behavior at Stark Tower," said Fury. "Even with his bias, I see no valid reason to lock Loki up before he's done anything yet."

So Clint has been the SHIELD's private informant the entire time. Tony should have known; SHIELD had nothing about privacy protection in their contracts, after all.

"But sir, his magic would be unharnessed if this proves to be successful," said another.

These damn agents only ever learned how to stage whisper, didn't they?

"He'll be a danger to this headquarters—this _city_—if we don't take precaution."

"What about the council's demands?"

"Out of the question," said Fury. "Listening to the council will only start an intergalactic war, which we can't afford."

"Yeah, Fury," Tony said loudly, rising from the floor with the prepared arc reactor in his hand. Fury turned sharply to Tony; the agents surrounding him braced themselves. "What exactly did the council demand?"

"Just do your job, Stark, and we'll discuss this later," said Fury.

"Yeah? Well, I'd like that in a contract," said Tony. He turned to Loki, who had unbuttoned the top of his shirt. The look Loki gave Tony told him that he too heard everything that Fury and the agents were discussing behind their backs. The glint in his eyes nearly made Tony stop short.

"Well, Bambi," said Tony. "The sooner we get this on you and get you fixed, the sooner you can go back to Asgard."

Something didn't settle right with Tony when he said it. Thor and Loki leaving for Asgard had never seemed so soon until now, and Tony couldn't remember if he ever tried counting down the days at all. It possibly meant never seeing either of the brothers ever again; such a possibility tightened Tony's insides as if his body shrunk and his guts doubled in size.

Loki needed to stick around to fix JARVIS, after all.

"You ready?" said Tony.

Loki's glance flickered toward the arc reactor in Tony's hands and he hesitated. He placed his hand gingerly over his chest, almost afraid. It wouldn't surprise Tony if he was. How could anyone still develop a sense of trust after all the hell Loki had been through?

"Hey," said Tony. "You know I'm a genius, right?"

Loki raised an eyebrow at Tony.

"And I know what I'm doing, right?" said Tony. "After all, I outsmarted you first when you threw me out the window."

Loki gave a brief smirk.

"I designed that thing to save me even when I hurtling down hundreds of stories to certain death," said Tony. "If I can design and make a thing like that, I can definitely make something that'll help you and not hurt you."

The reluctant humor on Loki's face faded and he pursed his thin lips. Tony wondered if he ought to be taken aback by this. The God of Mischief was a ball of pure, reverberating confidence and poise, never meant to be uncertain or—if he so dared to say it—scared. But Tony didn't know the person before him as the God of Mischief—he knew him as Loki, or Reindeer Games, or Lokster, or everything else except the very title he had been forced to accept. This Loki was afraid, and like hell Tony would let him stay that way.

"We can do this," said Tony. "The Mind Gem's ass is going to get kicked and you can get out of this place. You won't get hurt from this, and SHIELD can get it in their heads that you do more than just kill people like they think you do."

He could feel how all the agents in the vast room were watching with baited breath, wary and uneasy. He didn't need to be telepathic to know how they viewed the situation. Then again, they never had a JARVIS prank war with Loki. They never looked through honey-colored glasses.

"You trust me, right?" said Tony.

Loki's eyes became steely.

_As if you need to ask, _said those green eyes.

Tony grinned. "Brace yourself."

Loki took in a deep breath. Tony turned on sensory machines around Loki to measure the amount of energy levels in him. He fastened the metal band around Loki's chest, straightening it until the right for the arc reactor rested directly on Loki's heart. Tony switched on the reactor, feeling the heavy energy thrum between his fingers. He glanced briefly into Loki's eyes; Loki gave a short nod and Tony thrust the reactor into the ring.

The arc reactor glowed on contact, pulsing rhythmically upon Loki's chest. Tony stepped back, thoroughly satisfied at the fact that the arc reactor had not exploded on contact or something just as disastrous.

"Well, it's turned on," he said.

Finally, he raised his eyes to meet Loki's face, only to realize that something was wrong.

Loki's face was drawn, if not ashen. His eyes searched blindly for Tony, wide and horrified.

Loki's body, Tony saw, was starting to shake.

"Loki?" said Tony.

The energy levels shown on the machine screens were going haywire; the moving line that had indicated the Mind Gem's power had been squelched into a thin tremor of a straight line, but the measurement of Loki's magic was bounding off the screen like seismic waves, jerking with peaks and troughs so deep the screen was nearly a whole block of color; if it had a voice, Tony knew it would be screaming.

"His magic's fighting—it's going out of control," said Tony.

He reached his hand out, ready to pull out the arc reactor before Loki's magic could tear him inside out—

Blinding heat.

Tony didn't even realize he was flying until his back slammed against Fury ten feet away. Tony rolled off of Fury immediately, gathering himself onto all fours before fire seared all around him. He heard screams—crashes—crumbling rock and broken electricity.

He looked up. Power—pure, absolute, deadening power—was pouring from Loki so thickly that Tony could barely see Loki through the haze, the fire, the pain. The magic came in rivets of fire and fury, crumbling walls, caving in the ceiling, searing people alive. Screams were immortal and omnipresent, and Tony could only marvel—if just for a brief moment—how he was alive for even a minute to witness this.

Fire, it ate people alive. Power, it tore people apart. Tony could smell the stench of blood.

He saw a hand on the ground, absent of an arm.

There was a body before him, a hole blown cleanly through its abdomen.

Paranormal massacre.

"Loki!" he said. "LOKI!"

He could see it—the look of absolute terror in Loki's face. His arms were strangled—tense—writhing as he fought what he could not hope to control. If nothing stopped, the magic would tear him—and the entire headquarters—apart.

Tony took in a deep breath before running forward, the heat searing his skin and scorching his clothes. Dodging as much of the magical blows as he could, he ran forth and launched himself onto Loki, his fingers curling around the circular arc reactor. The metal burned his skin, but he fastened his grip on it.

Just as a jet of power shot toward the ceiling above them and sent it caving in, Tony wrenched out the arc reactor.

The magic ceased immediately—the power died down and the fire dissipated. Pieces of the ceiling began to fall down toward them.

Tony suddenly felt himself be pushed off of Loki and onto the ground, moments before the cinder blocks rained on Loki's back as Loki covered Tony with his body. His body jerked from the impact, but he kept himself upright on all fours.

The screams did not stop.

Tony raised his eyes to Loki, still gasping with shock. The look on Loki's face nearly made Tony's heart stop; it was the look of absolute horror.

Before Tony could say anything, hands from all directions reached out and pulled Loki away from Tony. Loki thrashed and flailed as SHIELD agents clasped heavy handcuffs on his wrists.

"Hey, stop that!" said Tony, pushing himself off the ground. "Stop!"

When he raised his head, he nearly lost the breath in his lungs at the sight of the horrific damage. The room was crushed, blackened with fire and blood. Bodies were strewn across the floor, unmoving, not breathing, and the stench of burned flesh filled Tony's nose.

There was so much blood, so much destruction—it looked like the definition of war squeezed into a single room.

He felt the blood drain from his face.

"Murderer!" Agent Hill was bent over the body of a dead agent—even with his face burned off, Tony could tell that the agent had been very young. Agent Hill screamed, hands cradling the dead head. "He's a _murderer_!"

"Leave him alone!" said Tony, climbing onto his feet and hurrying toward Loki. Agents shoved him away, closing their body barrier around Loki as they bound him with every bit of cruel metal they had in their possession. "Stop it, what the hell are you doing?"

Loki was doubled over, his wrists before him bound tightly. When he tried to fight away from the hands, an agent kicked him down.

"He's a monster. Look at this!" said the agent. "_Look at this_! He killed—he murdered—_don't you see this?"_

Tony knew. Tony saw it and he knew and it appalled him. Appalled that he had failed.

"Listen to the council, Fury!" said one of the agents. Fury's clothes were singed and a cut bled across his head, but he was otherwise all right. He positively seared with anger. "Listen to the council—he's a monster and he needs to be put down."

Tony's breath hitched in his throat.

"Was that the council's orders, Fury?" he said. "They wanted to execute Loki?"

Without further ado, Tony grabbed the collars of two agents and hauled them aside, fighting his way to Loki.

"Get away," said Tony. He snatched the keys from one of the agents and unclasped the lock; the handcuffs fell from Loki's wrists. He bent down onto his knees to be eye level with Loki, whose head was bowed.

"Are you okay?" said Tony.

Loki raised his eyes to Tony for only a second before he pushed himself away. He tore out of the circle of agents and darted out of the room of destruction, away from the threats and accusations, until Tony could see him no more.

"Go after him," said a captain. "You five—chase him and bring his ass to the barracks."

Tony spun around to face the captain head-on.

"No, you _shut the hell up_," said Tony. "Get your priorities straight. Get the men to help the wounded, tend to the dead, everything else, but don't you chase after Loki like he's some beast."

"Do you really think you have any right to make orders, Stark?" said the captain. "We've got a war criminal wreaking havoc and blowing shit up again and—"

"It was me," said Tony. "It was me. I did that to him. He wouldn't have ever done that; I _know. _My device made his magic go haywire. He had no control. It was me. I told him I could fix him and he trusted me and I did this to him."

"You don't know that—"

"For God's sake, _why_?" Tony felt anger pulse in his voice until it made his hands itch. "What is it with SHIELD and placing the blame? Don't you look at me like that, you know what the hell I'm talking about. The very time that Loki doesn't try to hurt anyone and accidentally does, you call him a monster. And it's no mystery how SHIELD thinks about Bruce because of the other guy, and how you've got a glass cage ready to drop him to his death any time something goes beyond his control. Is that what SHIELD is? Is it?"

Silence. Anger and hurt nearly choked Tony. It nearly blinded him because life was thrown into high definition in anger. All angles were too sharp and colors too brash. Anger made him feel _alive._

"Listen to Stark, Winston," said Fury. "Help the wounded and tend to the dead. That's our priority."

The captain—Winston—clenched his teeth but turned away from Tony, directing his men to follow the orders. Tony unclenched his fists.

"And Stark?"

Tony turned to Fury.

"Find Loki, and fast," said Fury. "If last time he ran off he got attacked by Chitauri, I don't want to know what'll happen this time."

Tony raised his chin.

"I don't take orders," he said.

And with that, he turned on his heel and ran out of the room toward Loki's direction.

* * *

Monster.

Monster, murderer, monster, murderer.

Beast, savage, brute, Frost Giant—

_(No, Frost Giants wouldn't try to kill an entire race. Even Frost Giants wouldn't destroy a realm)_

Monster, oh monster, what have you done, you've killed, you've burned, you've destroyed, you've decimated

You can never go back can never go back there was nothing to go back to in the first place

Oh Loki, you knew all along, didn't you you knew it would come to this you knew there was nothing else

But it hurts, oh it hurts so bad, it breaks

_(oh but wasn't this fun for you once wasn't this a breeze wasn't this positively satisfying once ha ha ha HA HAHAHA HAH HAH**AH AHAHA HAHAHA—**)_

Go home I just want to go _home_

_Stay away, stay away_

Unfortunate, unlucky child

Blood on the walls like oil stains

What you deserve what do you deserve isn't it unfair?

_(Am I cursed?)_

A scourge a blight an infection best cut off

Did they not know did they not realize?

If only time can change if only things were never meant to be if only if only

If only—

If

only…

* * *

_It was a grotesque babe—an ugly child, even for Chitauri standards. Its head was large while its limbs were thin, its scales sickly and flaking with illness. It was pathetic, like a wounded animal with an even more injured pride. It was shameful just to look at it. _

_But look at it Loki did, and he couldn't stop. _

_He had wandered only with the permission of the Chitauri—exercise for the pet, they said. Can't let it lose its pretty little legs, after all. _

_Only to stumble upon a deep crater within the rock, miserable mewling calling out from it. He let himself be drawn by his curiosity, and instead found the baby in the rock._

_It screeched the moment it saw him—not of fear, he reckoned, or of disgust, as the rest of them did, but because of pain, of loneliness, of the desire to be held. It looked no older than several days; he wondered if it was ever held at all. _

_He bent low, his weak knees cracking from the action as he crouched at the edge of the crater. The baby howled, reaching its arms out toward Loki, hands grasping as if it yearned to pull him closer to it. Its cries hurt Loki's head. _

_He turned back to look for the guard that watched him. It was several paces away, looking as if it did not notice the baby. He faced the baby again and swallowed down a grimace. It was black and mottled, discolored for a Chitauri and almost blending into the shadows. If Loki could not see how it thrashed and cried, he would have mistaken it for a screaming stone. _

_"What is it doing here?" he said to the guard._

_The guard turned its head to Loki. It was one of the more silent ones, the ones that could and could not care less for Loki. _

_"It is a half-breed," said the guard. "Disabled and weak. The Chitauri have no use for it."_

_The baby wailed louder. Loki wondered if it could understand words._

_"What of its parents?" said Loki._

_"The father a runt of another race," said the guard. "Its mother a slave." _

_He imagined a mother sobbing as they took the child away, deeming its life worthless. He imagined a mother tossing her baby into the abyss, cold and unfeeling._

_He questioned if her heart had been broken at all._

_"It could grow to be strong, if it can learn," said Loki._

_It could grow to be wise, if it can be loved._

_"It would never grow." _

_Loki nodded. He saw tears stream down the baby's face, creating puddles down its temples. _

_"You mean to leave it to die?" said Loki._

_"We have no use for monsters," said the guard._

_For a brief second, Loki had the strongest desire to laugh._

_That night, when all had taken their rest and left Loki alone for the first time in a long time, he slipped out of his bundle of rags and trekked through the empty crevices, retracing his steps. He wondered if he could follow the sounds of its cries again, like the first time. He wonders if it had already withered into death, and he was too late. _

_But even in the darkness of night, where no sun could bless them, Loki found it. Its cries died down to whimpers, curled against the stones as if afraid. Did babies already know of monsters at their age? _

_(What are the monsters of your soul, child?) _

_(What haunts the would-be beast?) _

_He bent low next to it until the baby noticed his presence. Immediately it rolled onto its back and reached out to Loki again, sobbing. Loki remained unmoving, watching how the baby feebly kicked its spindly legs, how its malformed scales cracked like dried snakeskin. It certainly looked nothing like Chitauri; he wondered what claimed half of its heritage. If such a fact even mattered at birth's doorstep. _

_When it realized that Loki would not touch it, the baby's face contorted in sorrow and it wept. Its cries rattled Loki's head until the sound shook his heart. He wondered if it knew how lonely it was, how miserable and abandoned it was. _

_(How wise a child must be, if it understands love the moment it draws breath, to know how cruel it is to be so alone) _

_Finally, Loki sank down into the crevice, resting his back against the tall and cold rocks. He gingerly lifted the child off the ground—even in the coldness of the night it was still warm with life. _

_(Don't monsters bleed just as well?) _

_He held the child in his shaking arms. It was far too thin for a baby, and far too impossible to save. Not when he could barely save himself. What would the Norns have in store for it should it have survived? A lifetime of slavery to the bidding of liars and killers? Its head ripped off its neck?_

_It whimpered in his arms, its gangly fingers grabbing the front of his shirt. It had unusually large eyes for a Chitauri and he wondered if that was why its kind so detested to look upon it; perhaps they feared to see too much of its emotions, its thoughts and fears flash behind those pale eyes, when proper Chitauri were meant to be soulless, thoughtless, lifeless, all potential of life and meaning sucked out of them. _

_No, the baby would never have survived in this life. If the cold did not kill it, fate would._

_"Shh, shh," Loki murmured, rocking the baby. "It's all right, child. It's all right."_

_At the sound of his voice, the baby hiccupped, swallowing its salt cries and gazing up at Loki. Its eyes almost looked green and he nearly choked. He held it close, trying to comfort it with his meager warmth. _

_"You have nothing to be afraid of," he said. He grazed his thumb gently over its rough cheek. "Death is nothing frightening. It is life that is cold and cruel."_

_The baby hiccupped again and pressed its cheek against Loki's chest. He rocked it gently, wondering if it had mistaken him for its father. What would life take them through should he raise it? A life of love, of hope? Of deceit? _

_"You're very lucky, you know," said Loki, bending his head low to the baby. "Death is simple and sweet, much like sleeping without the nightmares. Except you do not have to wake up and lose all of yourself, and try to start over." He offered it a small, broken smile. "I've been trying to die for a long time, but you're a fortunate, fortunate child." _

_His soft voice lulled the baby to a doze, its eyes half-closed hazily. The hideous baby looked so human and it made his heart hurt. Lies. Whoever said mercy was a sign of weakness had lied. _

_"Did you know that in death, everyone is equal?" he said. "There's so much hatred in life, so much pain and fear. But in death, everyone is loved all the same. No matter what you are or what you've done."_

_With his stronger hand he cradled the baby's head. It nestled deeper into his palm, the warmth of its life heavy upon its fingers. Breathe in, breathe out. It was a curse. _

_"You will be safe, little child," said Loki. "Life would not be kind to outcasts like you. Now, you don't have to learn to hurt, to speak lies or anger, to learn to walk only to run away—to learn to cry or laugh, to find you have a heart because someone broke it, to be lonely or cruel, to cause others sorrow, to learn to love and let it die. You'll never have to regret or wish for what will never come true. You'll never have to grieve or suffer, lose what you held most dear, nothing. I promise you that you will be happier in death."_

_If the baby understood him, then it believed him. It let its eyelids slowly droop with comforted sleep as Loki continued to speak his lullaby, rocking the baby. The night was cold, but they were both so warm. _

_"Don't be afraid, little child," said Loki as the baby fell asleep in his arms. He twisted his body just enough to lean his side against the wall. His fingers gripped the back of the baby's head protectively. "Everything will be better for you. The world has no place for you, but it's all right. You will die, and you will never become the monster that they demand of you. And you will be at peace, and happy, and never, ever alone." _

_His voice shook and he couldn't breathe, but he rocked the baby so tenderly. The baby slept on in his arms, its delicate head so warm in his tense hand. He felt his heart race, his breath hitch, his muscles sob. No, they cried. No, no, no. _

_But his heart told him, you must._

_You must._

_(And his tongue said, no more. Two monster outcasts shall be silenced forever tonight. No more. Give up. None shall hear, none shall know, none shall suffer because of you. No more.) _

_"Will you do me a favor, little child?" Loki said. "When you depart from this body, this life, will you guide me? Guide me to the end as soon as possible? To Valhalla or to Helheim, I care not. But light a candle, so I may follow you into the dark." _

_The baby smacked its lips in its sleep and shifted its head. Loki liked to think it nodded in agreement. _

_He closed his eyes._

_His fingers tightened. _

_"You will be at peace."_

_He breathed in heavily. Breathed out. _

_He raised his arms and swung. _

_He bashed the child's head against the rocks._

_There was no cry, no choked scream of betrayal. Not even a whimper. The splintering of a skull—and hollow silence. _

_The blood streamed down the rock, so heavy was its flow. It coated his hands that still held that shattered shell. He held no baby—he held dead, cold, worthless weight. He held what could have been, what should have been, and what did. _

_He did not open his eyes. Could not. _

_He let the broken body fall from his arms. It clattered pointlessly like kindling at his feet. _

_He could smell the blood, and it poisoned him._

_His heart did not want to beat at all. _

_Slowly, he rose to his feet. He felt so, so heavy, and yet impossibly hollow. _

_His hands at his side, dripping with blood. _

_(Fortunate, fortunate child)_

_He stumbled forward, out of the crevice and toward the camp, still blind. His feet were ripped with the jagged rocks jutting from the soil. He felt the pain, but his heart was too numb. _

_Even in his breathing he made no sound. He was silenced, so empty that even echoes had no place within him. _

_(Oh Death, have mercy)_

_And as he walked, he did not cry. He did not moan or scream. He was gone, gone, and unsalvageable. He was gone. _

_If only._

_Blood followed his footsteps. Blood followed his reeking soul. _

_He craned his neck until he faced the sky, his eyes still closed. He imagined the luxury of feeling rain fall on his face, onto his lips and on his tongue. He imagined the luxury of feeling the sunlight. He deserved none. He shall have none. _

_Blood rained upon him. _

_He breathed in. Breathed out. A curse. Punishment._

_(Torture)_

_And everything crashed down on him without warning. The weight of the world, of his guilt, his heavy heart, his regrets, his cries and lies, his anger and pain, his betrayal and sorrow, everything—everything fell. _

_And he knew he could not take it anymore._

_And he knew there was nothing he wanted more than sweet nothingness. _

_He fell. _

_Blood coated him. It was not unfamiliar. _

_He fell, and he was filled with nothing. _

_He would have wept, if anything was left inside of him._

_He would have screamed, if he had wanted anything else, anything at all._

_He would have died that night, had they not found him and put the Mind Gem within him in time._


	20. Chapter 20

**Ugh, what a day. Hopefully this chapter finds you all well. **

* * *

When the home phone rang unexpectedly with Tony's cell phone number as the caller I.D., Clint thought nothing of it. Probably Tony being his usual self and whooping on the other end of the phone because 'science trumps magic' and other related statements. Clint debated whether or not to pick up the phone or let it fall into voicemail before caving in; all that he was really waiting for was news that Loki and Thor could get off of Earth and back to wherever they needed to go, whether that be to Asgard or B-612.

"Yeah?" said Clint when he answered the phone.

"Barton? That you?" Tony, all right, and he sounded breathless.

Clint took a gulp of the smoothie he had snuck out from Tony's fridge. "Who else?"

"Where's Bruce?" said Tony. "I need to talk to him."

"I think he's showering or something," said Clint, yawning. "I'll pass the good news to him once he comes out."

"What?"

"It was a success, wasn't it?"

"No," said Tony. "No, it was the opposite. It was a disaster."

Clint nearly choked on his fruit drink. He thumped his chest, coughing.

"Come again?" said Clint.

"It failed. I failed," said Tony, his voice strained. "The Mind Gem was suppressed, but for some reason his magic went haywire, and it exploded out of him."

"What is going on?" Clint turned around to see Thor coming into the room. He groaned inwardly before reluctantly putting the phone on speaker.

"There was a bit of a mishap," said Clint.

Thor's face paled immediately. "What do you mean?"

"Point Break, is that you?" said Tony.

"Stark?" said Thor. He leaned closer to the telephone. "Stark, what happened? Where is my brother?"

"Shit," said Tony. "I was hoping to break the news to you _last._"

"What do you mean?" said Thor, gripping the edge of the table. Clint leaned away slightly; if Tony's bad news set Thor on a rampage, Clint was going to be the first person in flying out the window.

"The Mind Gem's power was repressed, but for some reason Loki's own magic just went crazy," said Tony. "It got completely out of his control and it—it destroyed almost everything around him. It destroyed nearly a third of the SHIELD headquarters. People _died_. People—so many agents, they—"

Clint felt his heart clench in his chest.

"What did he do?" Clint said.

"It wasn't his fault," Tony said, his voice extremely rough. "It was out of his control. He didn't mean to hurt anyone. It was me. I fucked up, and it was me. And I've got even more blood in my hands because of my creations. Look, can someone please get Bruce? I honestly don't know what to do anymore."

"I will get him," said Thor, his voice hollow. He looked positively ill and he stumbled away, his jaw clenched and hands curling into fists nervously.

"Shit," said Clint. "Shit. Who died? How many died?"

"Look, don't ask just yet, Clint," said Tony. "It was bad. Damn, I didn't even know that guy had so much magic in him, and something tells me that wasn't even half of it. I'm just wondering what would have happened if I kept the cuff on him the whole time."

"Wait—you took off his cuff?" Clint said.

"If I didn't, that magic probably would have made him into a human grenade. It would have made him combust," said Tony.

"Okay, so then how many of our agents are killed?"

"Clint, I—look, I don't know. I'm sorry, I just don't know. It was on no one's agenda. No one wanted it, no one expected it, and it happened. I'm sorry. I know that's never enough. Words are never enough. I just...god_dammit._"

Clint couldn't feel angry. He couldn't anymore. Because Tony was apologizing, Tony was distraught, Tony was _guilty_. Not everything would make him this way, and the gravity of such a situation made Clint's mind burn.

"Tony, what's the problem?" Bruce was running into the room with Thor closely behind him, his hair still wet from the shower. "Thor told me the reactor didn't work. What happened?"

"It triggered his magic to explode," said Tony. "I think—if magic really, really is alive—the Mind Gem must have squelched Loki's magic so much that when its influence was gone it was so free it ran too free, and he couldn't control it. And now people are dead, everyone's angry, and Loki locked himself in this damn room and he won't—let—me—in. Fury hasn't put anyone in chains yet but that doesn't mean anything yet."

"Wait, where are you? Where's he?" said Bruce.

"We're in the west wing of the SHIELD headquarters," said Tony. "He ran off after the whole fiasco and he locked himself in this room—or at least, I saw him go through the door and lock it—and I can't get through even when I try to kick it down and he's not responding. Hell, I don't even know if he can hear me."

"Let me go to him," said Thor, his voice shaking. "Please, let me come speak with him."

"Listen, Thor," said Tony. "I know you are his brother and everything, but this situation—I think Bruce and I would be better for this. I need you here, Bruce."

"What do you want me to do, get the other guy to rip open the door?" said Bruce.

"No," said Tony. "I'm at the door—he's locked himself in a room and I don't know if he's hurting himself, and I sure as hell am not good with injuries. And—you know how it is. You and I both know how it is, but you especially. This is in bad taste and I know it,and I'm sorry, but—he had no control over it, Bruce, and they're calling him a monster."

Bruce closed his eyes. Thor's face hardened with shock and indignation, his fists shaking from gripping them so tightly. Clint suddenly felt too aware of his presence among them, like a puzzle piece from the wrong box. They were all thrumming the same intangible bond he did not understand and it made him feel strangely inferior.

"I'll be there as fast as I can," said Bruce. "Tony, make sure he's—I don't know. Make sure he isn't trying to hurt himself. Do anything to talk to him, to make sure he's listening to you. And—if SHIELD needs to get their hands on someone, try not to let it be him."

"I know," said Tony. "I'm a step ahead of you."

With that, the phone line went dead. Bruce pulled on his jacket and swiftly made his way toward the elevators.

"Doctor," said Thor.

"Thor, we'll bring him back home," said Bruce. "Just hang tight. I know—it's going to be hard for you. He will need his comfort. But he might need people who understand him first."

I understand, Clint found himself wanting to say. I do.

He felt a dull ache in his chest, not far from where the scepter pierced his heart.

"Please hurry, Doctor," said Thor. "Please take care of him."

Bruce nodded before rushing into the elevators. The doors slid shut and Bruce was gone. Thor let out a choked sigh and he leaned against the wall, hands pressed temples. Clint was seized with the desire to say something, anything, but he suddenly felt so _unworthy,_ so shameful, and the sensation was so out of place.

"He's not a monster," said Thor.

Clint jumped slightly, his heart nearly leaping into his chest.

_They're calling him a monster._

Clint swallowed hard and had every desire to walk away, to escape, but he was chained to the spot.

If Loki was a monster, then what was he?

He, who killed who knew how many of his own fellow agents. Who gave information about the other Avengers to the enemy. Who did it all thoroughly and willingly, the only difference being his loyalties were forcibly changed. He nearly helped send the helicarrier plummeting into the ocean. No outside force tortured him to speak, to pull back the arrow and release it toward whom he once called companions. If Loki was the monster, when he had utterly lost control, what was Clint?

"Thor," he said. His voice sounded strange in his ears. "They'll bring him back. It'll be fine."

"Do you know how long he's been tortured with himself?" said Thor. "How long he believed he was a beast, a savage beast, and how it drove him into madness? And still does so?" Thor let his hands fall weakly to his sides. "He is no monster, Barton. Please believe me."

Clint thought of how driven he had been when he was fighting Natasha years ago, how hungry he was to kill her. He thought of New York in shambles, and a never-ending obituary. He thought of Natasha saying, don't do this to yourself, but thinking, it was me, it was always, always me.

"I know, Thor," said Clint. And it was the truth. "I know."

* * *

"Loki?"

Tony figured the bones in his knuckles were going to weather down from all the knocking he was doing. Figures—SHIELD and their impossibly heavy doors that he couldn't just kick them down. If only he had his suit with him to blast it down, but they had enough of fire here. Enough destruction and not enough _tries. _

"Loki, listen to me," said Tony. "You're in there. I know you're in there, and—open this door, Loki. I won't hurt you."

Nothing. Not even a blunt and heavy object being thrown against the door. Tony's nails dug into his palm. If Loki hurt himself in there—if he did something to himself behind locked doors—

"Loki, it's just me. Uncle Tony, remember?" said Tony. "Just me. No one else. But Bruce will come too, because Bruce knows you and he understands you and he's a _friend._"

Where the hell was Bruce? Tony had forgotten that not everyone had the ability to fly at breakneck speed like he and Thor.

"Loki—just give me a sign you're in there, or something," said Tony. "One knock means yes, two knocks means no, okay? Anything? Loki. _Loki._"

There was a crash inside and Tony winced.

"Okay. Okay, that's good. That works." Tony checked the time on his cell phone and cursed. Did it really have to take Bruce twenty minutes to get here?

"Loki—listen," said Tony. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't. You had no control over it, you didn't choose to do it. It was the arc reactor. It messed you up and made your magic go crazy. It had nothing to do with you."

Three years ago, if Tony was told that Loki had a single ounce of guilt, much less heart, in him, Tony would have laughed and taken the bourbon away from whoever was talking. But now, with a heavy door between them, Tony knew too well just what Loki had within him, and to see him so raw and hurt was painful, to say the least.

"I told you to trust me and I let you down," said Tony. "I'm sorry. The blame goes to me, not you. SHIELD won't hurt you. The Avengers won't let them. Do you hear me—?"

Tony was interrupted by constant crashing on the other side of the door. Tony banged his fist against the door in another futile attempt to move it. He kept tugging at the door handles but they remained stone still.

"Tony?" Tony spun around and let out a cry of relief at the sight of Bruce running down the hallway. If he had to run to Bruce in slow motion and kiss him right now, he would.

"Bruce, you gotta help me," said Tony. "Loki won't open the door, I don't know if he's listening to me, and I think he's destroying something in there."

"Can you get JARVIS to somehow get into the security cameras so we can see what's going on in there?" said Bruce.

"Well—" Tony jerked his head toward the door's direction. "JARVIS was sort of compromised, remember?"

"Right," Bruce said. He rubbed his forehead before approaching the door and knocking gently. "Loki? It's me, Bruce. You know, the doctor? It's just me and Tony, Loki. You don't have to worry."

Tony wasn't even sure if Loki could hear Bruce over the constant crashing.

"Did you bring medical things?" said Tony. Bruce gave a grim nod and gestured to the messenger bag around his shoulder.

"He's not going to want to open the door for us," said Bruce.

"Well, he won't want us to break it down either," said Tony. "I'm not going to act like SHIELD."

"I know," said Bruce. He lowered his voice. "I saw the damage."

Tony felt his stomach churn.

"I don't even know where to begin," said Tony.

"Let's deal with the things we screwed over one at a time," said Bruce. "Before the damage gets worse on its own. And also, that one captain's still dead set on bringing Loki down."

"Asshole," said Tony.

"And he won't hesitate in breaking the door down," said Bruce.

"Point taken," said Tony. He gave the door one last tug. "Loki, let us in. We'll take you back home. We won't stay here a second longer; just let us take you back."

"None of the Avengers are angry with you," said Bruce. "They want you to come back. They won't hurt you or anything."

One last crash in the room, but the door did not move.

"It's not fear," Bruce said.

"What?" said Tony.

"He's not afraid," said Bruce. "That isn't why he's locking himself up like this."

Tony pressed a hand against his eyes. "This is all my fault. You were right, Bruce. Magic is one thing, science is another. I couldn't control it."

"It was my fault as much as it was yours," said Bruce. "But we can't dwell on that right now."

Bruce pressed a hand flat against the door. "Loki, listen to me. You know me and the other guy. Mindless beast and everything, remember?"

Silence on the other end, and Tony cringed at the thought that Loki wasn't even conscious on the other side. The idea of Thor's anger if that were the case never entered Tony's train of thought.

"You know what I've done. Or the other guy," said Bruce. "Because of the other guy, I've destroyed so much. I broke down a whole section of the city. I even killed a lot of people. It was completely out of my control, but I can't get that out of my head. I couldn't stop blaming myself, because it was my body and I thought I should have complete control over it, even though I don't. Deep down, I don't."

Tony couldn't help but stare at Bruce as the quiet, mild-mannered man poured truth after truth through the door cracks. Why were they doing this? When had they gone from more than reluctant babysitters of sorts to—this?

"I know how you feel, Loki," said Bruce. "You feel—you feel awful. Guilty. You think what other people are saying—that it's true. And it hurts. It angers you, and it hurts."

How had they become so certain? But Tony believed every word.

"And you're afraid of yourself," said Bruce. "You're afraid for yourself and of yourself and—you aren't a monster, Loki. I've seen my share of monsters. You're not one. You know how I know? Because we're here right now, talking to each other like this. If you were really a monster, you wouldn't feel all these things. Monsters aren't monsters for what they do, Loki, nor is it for what they are."

For a brief, wild moment Tony had the image of his father come into mind. The spitting image of himself. He took in a deep breath to squelch it aside. Now was not a time to contradict Bruce, regardless of how he felt.

"It's terrible that this happened," said Bruce. "It's awful. But you are not. We messed up but it wasn't you. Your magic isn't a bad thing, it really isn't. Just like how the other guy watches over all our backs, your magic protects you. It's a part of you, and that is nothing wrong." He leaned his forehead against the door. "We want you to come out. To be all right. Please Loki…come out."

Silence. Tony waited with baited breath. No way Loki would listen to them—even if everything Bruce and Tony said was the truth (_and it was, he realized. It really was_), Loki wouldn't trust them. Not after this.

But to his amazement, the door lock shifted on the other side. Bruce curled his fingers around the handle and gently tugged it open. Loki had locked himself in one of the conference rooms; the table was overturned, and chairs scattered everywhere. Bloody holes punctured the wall; no doubt Loki had punched through them.

Loki was retreating back to the corner, his hand steadily bleeding. His face was empty of emotion; the sight of it unnerved Tony. It was no mystery that Loki did not take this situation in stride, so how could his façade remain so blank, so silent? How could anyone suppress a scream?

"Loki," said Bruce.

Loki pressed his back against the corner of the room, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. He raised a bloody hand to his lips. Tony counted seven cracked holes in the wall, each bloodier than the previous.

"Tony, close the door," said Bruce. Tony obliged as Bruce slowly approached Loki. Loki did not react, only letting his blood coat his lips and chin, as if he was thirsty for a taste.

"Let me see that," said Bruce, reaching out to take Loki's hand. Loki's eyes snapped open immediately and he straightened, his eyes searing in comparison to his stone cold face. Bruce hesitated before turning his hand, offering to take it. Loki stood still before letting his hand fall to his side, ignoring Bruce's offer.

"You might have broken your hand," said Bruce. "I want to help it."

Loki pressed his lips together. Blood gushed from the tip of his lips and trickled down his chin. He touched his chest with his red, shaking hand.

Tony wished he understood.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Bruce. "I just want to—"

All of a sudden, Loki's face twisted into a silent snarl. He spun toward the wall and sank his fist into the plaster over and over again. Bits of the wall flew after each strike, his blood smearing on the gray, but each hit was faster and fiercer than the last as if Loki was trying to kill. Tony immediately took a hold of Loki's waist and dragged him away from the wall. Loki thrashed in Tony's grip, clawing at his own eyes before he hung limply in resignation in Tony's arm, one hand pressed against his mouth as if to force back nonexistent sobs.

"Loki," said Tony, and he almost said 'it's okay,' except it was the most blatant and disgusting lie. Nothing was okay, Loki least of all. "Loki, none of this was your fault. Do you hear me? I'm an honest person, and I don't say things to sugar-coat, so you know you can believe me when I say this _is not your fault_."

Blood streaked the left side of Loki's face where his split hand tried to rub out his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth bared as if he was undergoing torture—and perhaps he was.

Tony slowly lowered himself to his knees, taking Loki down with him to the ground. Bruce knelt in front of them, gently coaxing Loki to let him see his hand. Loki finally acquiesced; Bruce mopped the blood from Loki's torn knuckles and bound his hand with clean white strips of bandage. Loki's fingers twitched intermittently, instinctively urged to pull away from the caring touch. He absentmindedly rocked back and forth, still shuddering in Tony's grip as if ready to fall ill. When Tony finally let go of Loki, he was surprised Loki could sit up on his own.

"Let's go home," said Bruce.

Loki opened his eyes, uncertainty in those green. They questioned Bruce, Tony knew. They asked what he meant. They asked if he ever had one. If he still wanted one.

"Your home is where you're cared for, and that sure as hell is Stark Tower," said Tony. "I hate being gushy or honest, but you're under our wing now. And you're not leaving until we say so."

A flicker of a smile before it was gone. Maybe Tony imagined it. Looking at Loki's face now, Tony was sure he did.

"There's no why or how or for how long," said Tony. "You're you, and you need help, and you'll get it. We screwed up with this—the reactor—but like hell if that means we're going to screw up anything else. I know you don't trust us anymore, because we really did screw up, but—but just let us bring you back home and help you."

Loki watched Tony and Bruce with unreadable eyes. His tongue was absolutely silent, and his lips were twisted in a grimace. His eyes fell on his bandaged hand and he looked as if he didn't even notice Bruce binding his wounds. He pressed a hand against the side of his head as if the room spun in his eyes and stumbled along the wall, trying to edge away from them as he shook his head mutely to the floor.

Tony wished he could understand.

"We better go," said Tony. He kept close to the door and he couldn't tell if the footsteps running through the hallways were a part of his imagination or not.

"Right," said Bruce. He hesitated. "Is there another exit?"

Tony nodded. Going through the original exit would bring them back into _that _room. "There's probably one in the back. Let's get going. Loki?"

Tony stopped short. Loki had stopped paying attention to them, instead grazing his fingers across the shattered plaster where he drove his fist through. Pieces of the wall crumbled off. He pressed his forehead against the splintered holes, as if to see if it fit perfectly.

Bruce put a hand on Loki's shoulder. "Loki."

Loki's eyes flickered toward Bruce. The corner of his lips twitched upward, looking almost crazed, but it died away immediately. He pushed himself from the wall, staggering slightly. Tony couldn't help but feel his stomach churn at the sight of Loki. There was something off about him, something that was misconstrued like a mosaic piece built of a thousand broken pieces to form a hazy excuse for a picture. Almost like the God of Mischief they met for the first time three years ago.

If Loki stayed any longer, Tony was sure he would become catatonic, so he dragged Loki out of the room himself. When he drove everyone back home, he couldn't stop himself from glancing at the rearview mirror toward Loki in the back seat.

For too many moments, he thought he saw the old Loki he originally knew at the battle of New York City.

He couldn't recognize him.

* * *

Steve couldn't take his eyes off the window. It was pointless, he reasoned with himself. He was probably fifty stories if not higher off the ground, to the point where everyone was barely discernible; how in the world did he think he could see Bruce, Tony, and Loki from all the way up here?

But he couldn't take himself away from the window. It was either that or stare endlessly at Thor at the height of his worry (Thor seemed to exceed his level of worry every single time when Loki was involved). Clint and Natasha had been called back to the headquarters—probably to help iron out the entire situation—so it was only Steve, Thor, and Pepper left in the living quarters.

"Thor, do you need anything?" Pepper said. Thor was pacing in the hallway, his face drawn and tired. Thor shook his head and waved a hand. "Steve?"

"No thanks," said Steve. He let himself look away from the window. "Thor, they'll be all right. Bruce is there, Tony's there, and they're the smartest, ablest people possible."

"How can you be so certain?" said Thor.

"Because they'd be insulted if you thought otherwise," said Pepper. She handed Thor a glass of water. Thor hesitated before downing it in one gulp. "It's terrible that Loki has to go through all this, and that there isn't a guarantee that everything will be totally all right, but he has people on his side helping him, and that's going to help him little by little."

Thor nodded, handing back the cup. "I only hope he will remember that we are here to help him."

"Why do you say that?" said Steve.

Thor only shook his head and continued his pacing. Steve and Pepper exchanged a look before Pepper left the room. Steve sighed heavily and pulled up a chair.

"JARVIS?" he said.

The AI butler, whom Tony had to shut off and restart to shake out of its temper tantrum, could only deal with domestic situations without reverting back to a bugged state. He responded, his voice more disconnected and static than usual.

"_Yes—Mr.—Rogers?" _

"Can you alert us when the others come back?" said Steve.

"_I—will try—my best, Mr.—Rogers."_

Steve shook his head and suppressed a grin.

"He kind of grows on you, doesn't he?" he said.

Thor gave a small smile but did not cease his pacing. Steve wished he could only knew what was the right thing to say or do for Thor; the only times he saw Thor so vulnerable was when Loki was at stake, and Steven couldn't help but wonder if Thor ever stopped to care for himself sometimes.

"Do you know something, Captain?" said Thor.

"What is it?" said Steve.

"Before I was banished, I warred constantly and hungrily," said Thor. "I would easily kill tens of Frost Giants in a mere hour and feel not a single ounce of guilt in me. What Loki had attempted three years ago in this city, I had pursued just as passionately not long before. I was punished to feel humility, never to feel remorse. If SHIELD so wishes for a monster to revile, they ought to find one in me." He gave a wry smile. "And yet, they revere me as a hero."

Steve ran his hand through his hair. It was surprising, to say the least, for Thor to open up so readily to Steve about his faults. It amazed him how little Steve truly knew about his teammates, much less Thor, and he wondered now what deeper secrets every one of the members hid from the others. If they were haunted as they fell asleep at night.

"Everyone does bad things, Thor," said Steve. "Whether or not they were mistakes, everyone makes the wrong choices. But no one is a monster. SHIELD's wrong to call anyone a monster. _You're _not a monster, Thor. What you did before—okay, it was wrong, you shouldn't have done that, but that doesn't mean you can't or didn't change."

"I know," said Thor. He looked so tired. "And yet, I cannot help but question it. What are real monsters, Captain? Are they actually individuals that are irrevocably heartless? Are they truly that tangible?"

"Maybe not," said Steve. "Maybe they're as real as heroes are. Which is to say, not."

"_Mr. Rogers—Mr. Stark and—Mr. Bruce and Mr. Odinson—are entering—the tower," _interrupted JARVIS, his voice intermittent.

"Thank God," said Steve. "Are they all right? Actually no, don't strain yourself, JARVIS."

Thor's face paled and he hovered near the elevator doors. Steve left his chair and waited with Thor, keeping a comforting hand on Thor's large shoulder. He thought he felt Thor shaking, despite Thor's unbetraying face.

It felt like eons before the elevator doors parted and Bruce and Tony stepped out to meet them. Thor stretched his neck, trying to look for Loki behind them, but he was absent.

"Where is my brother?" said Thor.

"He bee-lined to his room the moment we got off his floor," said Bruce. "I think he wants some alone time. I tried talking to him the whole time, and he seems to at least trust us enough to follow us, but…"

"But what?" said Steve.

"He looks like he cracked," said Tony, pressing his hands against his temples.

"Cracked?" said Thor. "Are his bones injured?"

"No, not that cracked," said Tony. "He doesn't look sane. He like—something in him seems to have shifted, and everything's out of order and out of place."

"How did you find him, Stark?" said Steve. "After you got through the door?"

Tony winced. "He messed up the place. Everything thrown around, about five or so holes in the wall because he punched through them…he hurt his hand, but he should be all right now."

"But he hides himself so quickly," said Thor.

"I think he still feels guilty," said Bruce. "I mean…it's normal, to feel that way. We can't cure that so quickly."

"Even if he needed help, he would not seek it himself," said Thor. "And what of SHIELD?"

Tony and Bruce exchanged glances.

"We're going to say our relationship with SHIELD in a Facebook would be 'it's complicated,'" said Tony.

This time it was Thor and Steve's turn to exchange glances—one of cluelessness.

"Fury's not accusing anyone," said Bruce, "but the rest of SHIELD…not so much. Even if Fury may give them orders to let Loki be free, there's no stopping them if they—you know."

"They will hurt my brother if they were given the chance?" said Thor, his voice grave.

"It won't come to that," said Tony.

Steve couldn't help but still feel unsettled. If Loki had been alone in a room before Tony and Bruce could find him and had punched through the walls until his hands opened, who was to say he wouldn't do something else right now, especially if Bruce was right and Loki's emotions were not quelled?

He slipped away unnoticed, descending down the elevators. There was no need to distress Thor even further with this possibility, but Steve wasn't going to risk it. He had seen the heavy blows that guilt dealt to soldiers after the first battle. He shivered at the memory and urged the elevator to move faster.

When Steve finally approached Loki's room, he knocked twice.

"Loki?" he said.

No answer. Steve tried the doorknob; it was locked.

"Loki, it's Steve. Can I come in?"

Still nothing. Not even a scuffle of feet. Steve swallowed hard.

"I'm coming in, okay?" said Steve. "JARVIS, can you unlock this door for me?"

"_Will—do—sir._"

The doorknob clicked unlocked. Immediately Steve turned it and pushed open the door, letting himself in. The moment his eyes fell on Loki, he felt his heart drop.

"Oh, Loki…"

Loki looked up. He was doubled over on the ground and breathing heavily, on his knees as if in confession. What caught Steve's eye first was the blood streamed down his left arm, coating his rolled up sleeve and the carpet. The mirror from the vanity of the room was shattered; the largest piece was sharp and bloody in his right hand, having carved into his left arm's skin. Loki spelled out something on his arm, Steve was sure of it—but they were in ancient runes of Old Norse that Steve could not understand.

Steve immediately rushed to the drawers and tugged out a long-sleeved shirt that Tony kept for spares. He kneeled next to Loki, who looked the least bit perturbed that he was bleeding out, and tried to lift his arm to wrap it. The moment Steve touched Loki, Loki slapped Steve's hand away, his face still impossibly immovable.

"Loki, don't do this to yourself," said Steve. "I want to help you. You're going to hurt yourself even further."

He had no idea if Loki could die from this, but Steve certainly wasn't going to risk it. Steve tried again and Loki shifted his arm away, letting his hand fall to his lap. Steve winced; the ground was slick with blood, and Loki still held onto the jagged, bloody piece of mirror in his other hand.

"Why are you doing this?" said Steve.

The look Loki spared Steve was so stern and yet so unreadable, as if Steve had to chisel through the glacier of his frigid gaze before understanding.

Steve didn't know why he wasn't calling Bruce down this very instant.

"This is what you want?" said Steve. "To die? Just like this? Loki, the powerful sorcerer, brought down by a mirror?"

Loki didn't react—not even with a nod or a blink. He continued turning the piece of glass over in his hand as if in contemplation. Steve felt his voice swell in his throat.

"If you were supposed to die, you had your chance about a week ago," said Steve. "We all did. With the Chitauri, remember? But if you didn't die then, that should mean you oughtn't to die now. What about Thor? What about your mother? For the first time in a long time you guys are like a family again. They finally got back the Loki they've been fighting for. But if you let yourself die this way, what about them? You know they love you, and I know, deep down inside, you feel the same. Are you going to leave them like this?"

Steve was just about to try binding Loki's arm again when he looked down and realized that the wound had long closed. Blood still coated much of the chair and Loki's clothes, but the bleeding had ceased altogether, and all that remained were mottled, ugly scars that spelled _something _out on his arm.

"So…you weren't trying to die?" said Steve.

Loki's face was very pale, much like how it was when Loki had completely drained himself trying to heal Thor. He gave Steve a sardonic smile (_you're a fool, _Steve thought it said, but he couldn't be certain) before holding up his arm and with the mirror still in his hand carved into his skin.

"Loki, no!" Steve grabbed Loki's wrist, wrenching his hand away. Immediately Loki's indifferent façade shattered and he bared his teeth like a beast, reacting immediately by ripping his arm from Steve's hand and swiping at him. The bloody glass was a mere inch away from slicing Steve's nose before Steve tumbled back immediately.

Loki's eyes widened when he realized what he tried to do and the piece of glass fell from his fingers, all signs of the previous ferocity withering. The cut he had made on his arm healed over again, but it left an uglier, crueler scar behind. He backed away from Steve, a hand over his eyes as his face screwed into a horrified grimace.

"Loki, it's okay," Steve said. His heart still leapt from being incredibly close to having his nose chopped off. "It's okay, I—I'm fine, see? I shouldn't have grabbed you like that, that was rude of me—"

Loki shook his head heavily like distressed child, clutching his head with both hands. He was crouched over on the carpet, almost bowing to Steve with a curved spine fit for a slave. Steve's stomach churned and he crept closer, moving as cautiously as possible until the carpet muffled him.

"It was an accident, Loki," said Steve.

Loki suddenly grinned between his fingers, grinned so wide he almost looked feral, and all of a sudden Steve knew that the situation at SHIELD was not what was on Loki's mind.

(A grin so wide he knew that it was a lie)

Why couldn't Steve be like Natasha, or Thor, or even Tony to an extent, to be able to understand Loki? Why was he so _incapable?_

"Loki," said Steve. "Whatever it is that's on your mind—that makes you think it's okay to hurt yourself like this—let me tell you that it isn't. It isn't okay. I don't know what torture the Chitauri did to you, but they weren't right, and you didn't deserve it."

Loki lifted his head to face Steve. Steve did not expect a look of utter perplexity from Loki.

"What?" said Steve.

Loki's eyebrows knitted together slightly in confusion.

"What was it that I said?" said Steve. "Hurting yourself? Chitauri torturing you? It's not okay?"

Loki perked up at the last statement with a look of total incredulity.

"It wasn't okay. It's not," said Steve. "No one deserves two or so centuries of torture—or any torture—from the Chitauri or anyone. You certainly don't."

Loki's puzzlement only multiplied; he looked at Steve as if Steve had lost his mind.

"You think—you think you _deserved_ it?" said Steve.

Steve felt just as disbelieving as Loki looked. "Why do you think that? No one deserves that! Not you, not me, not even—not even a Chitauri deserves that."

Loki looked as if he would have given a bark of sardonic laughter if he wasn't so silent. Steve dared to come closer to Loki and he was no stranger to how Loki hunched his shoulders like a wounded animal ready to attack.

"Listen to me—no one deserves that. It's wrong and it's inhumane, and it doesn't matter what anyone's ever done in their life. To be hurt like that is never right. I don't know what happened to you, and I'm not sure if I ever will, but I still stand firm to the fact that it isn't how it should be done."

Loki looked at Steve as if Steve had proposed his ambition of skydiving naked into the sun.

"Does every other planet think that torture is an acceptable form of justice?" said Steve.

Loki raised his eyebrow and nodded. Steve felt sick.

"That's never right. We wouldn't allow that here. Not legally, anyway. No one deserves to be hurt, no matter what they did. Sure, we have a justice system and punishments, but never like that."

The thought that Loki had taken his torture with so much stride(and it all made sense. No _wonder _Loki never cried, no _wonder_ he seemed so shocked when people tried to help him) because he was used to the idea of torture as a form of punishment made Steve sick to his stomach.

"You're more than that, okay?" said Steve. "Listen to me—come on, listen to me." He reached over and gave Loki's shoulder a gentle shake to pull back his attention. "You didn't deserve a single thing the Chitauri has ever done to you. You don't deserve how SHIELD's treating you right now."

Loki lowered his eyes; whether in disconcertment or acceptance, Steve was not sure.

"So—I don't know what this means," Steve said, gesturing to Loki's arm. "But if you're using that as a reminder of the Chitauri or of the things you regret or—or a list of reasons why you think so, I'll have you know that it isn't needed. You hear? We're all one big and rowdy family here, and we're here for you. If anything—anything—goes bad, goes wrong, or you just need something, we're here. We don't turn anyone away."

Loki kept his eyes fixed on the bloodstained carpet; Steve wondered if Loki heard him at all. When Loki closed his eyes, Steve gave Loki one last shake.

"Hey," said Steve. "I don't think you should sleep if you might go into shock or something."

Loki's smile widened (it held no warmth), but he opened both eyes obediently. With a little more of Steve's goading, he sat up straighter.

"Do you want to…er, anything to eat? Anything outside of the room?" said Steve.

Loki raised his eyebrows and looked away. Steve understood—again—how little he knew what went through Loki's mind. For all he knew, Loki could have not believed a single word Steve said and played compliance. He knew deep down that Loki did not swallow Steve's words as smoothly as he pretended.

"You don't even have to socialize if you don't want," said Steve. "You could read books in the living room or something—Natasha's got a huge stash of books somewhere—I just think you could get out of your room a little."

Loki's eyes did not leave his bloodstained hand. It was shaking slightly, and Steve feared he would strike out again—or worse, strike against himself. Steve hesitated before glancing down at Loki's engraved arm. He wondered how long scars lasted for immortals.

"What does it say?" said Steve. "Can I—er, can I ask JARVIS to translate it?"

Loki clenched and unclenched his red hand. The blood crackled in the lines of his palm. He slowly drew his knees to his chest and hid his face.

"JARVIS?" said Steve.

_"Coming—right up—sir."_

Steve wasn't sure what he would find out, and he was afraid if it would unnerve him. But the fact that Loki was willing to let him know—or at least, not push away—meant Loki trusted him, did it not? Or was there not enough truth in his skin to fear that Steve would find out too much?

"_The text—is in—Old Norse, sir."_

"And?" said Steve.

"_It reads—'Syrgi'—sir."_

Loki placed both hands on the sides of his head and clutched his hair, his blood soaking his black locks, until his back and shoulders shook. If the world was on mute, then Loki would be screaming.

As if to say, _Don't you see, Captain?_

Don't you see?

* * *

In the end, Loki took the bloodied shirt and strung it on a hanger.

He hung the hanger on the wall and let the blood drip.

The shirt had been white, of no doubt an expensive material, now dyed with Jotun blood.

He wondered if his blood was red normally, or if it were the AEsir disguise that changed everything about him.

Not nearly as red as his personal ledger.

_(it's coming back it's returning he could feel it probe in his mind he could feel it sinking its teeth into his soul like an illness it poisoned him and yet he wanted to laugh)_

Later that night, when everyone was supposed to be sleeping, he retreated to his private bathroom.

Gallons and gallons of hot water in the bathtub only coated the shirt a muddy red and the water a musty pink. Old blood dried into a crackling brown on the shirt no matter how much soap went into it, how much searing water and steam. It remained stained, ruined, hideous.

In the privacy of the night, Loki sacrificed a mite of magic to burn the shirt, bloodstains and all. Time had carved the blood into the shirt. Inseparable.

Blood still coated his walls.

**_(OUT, DAMN SPOT—)_**


	21. Chapter 21

**Sorry for the much shorter chapter than usual, guys! But the way this chapter ends just doesn't really work if I added the first half of the second chapter onto it. Don't worry, the next several updates are going to be packed with revelation/discoveries/action. **

**Sometimes I'm really surprised how far behind I am on updates in comparison to what I'm writing. I MAY consider updating twice a week again, depending on if this will drag on into the summer in which I may or may not want to end the story before then because I am possibly going on a long vacation in which internet may be available, but my time zone will be absolutely wacky compared to my usual times.**

**Considering that next Monday is Christmas Eve and the Monday after that is New Year's Eve, I am moving both weeks' updates to Wednesday instead. I apologize for the two-day delay for chapter 21, and I hope that the wait will be worthwhile :'). Have a wonderful holiday and don't spend too much time on the internet, my friends.**

* * *

**_MACBETH_**

_One cried "God bless us!" and "Amen" the other;  
__As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.  
List'ning their fear, I could not say "Amen,"  
When they did say "God bless us!"_

**_LADY MACBETH_**_  
__ Consider it not so deeply._

**_MACBETH_**_  
But wherefore could not I pronounce "Amen"?  
I had most need of blessing, and "Amen"  
Stuck in my throat_.

She had to stop doing this.

She had to stop waking up in the middle of the night. A sweaty sheen on her face. Breathless. Stock still under her sheets as if moving a single muscle would inform the monsters in the shadows where she was so they could take her alive, kicking and screaming.

She had to stop. She was a grown woman. She was no child. Nightmares were for children.

(Children has the best and the worst things)

But Natasha couldn't even let herself sit up. Her muscles were taut and she buried her head under her sheets until each breath she took was warm and stuffy as if she inhaled wool. No amount of willpower would make her move her arm or poke her nose out of her covers so she could draw in cold air.

Fear was for children.

The air under the covers was hot, and she tried to convince herself it was not uncomfortable.

She finally let herself move underneath the sheets, turning onto her right side. It felt liberating, as if she broke leather bonds, so she forced herself to extend her head out from under the covers. The air was cold, combing through her short hair. It made her shiver. She made sure not to open her eyes.

She thought she had complete control over the mind. Instead, it escaped her clutches and defeated her.

She remembered that the moment she woke up, she was praying. Praying what, or why, or how, she did not know, only that she found herself feverishly reciting the Russian Orthodox prayers in her mind as if her life depended on it. How foolish she was; no god would listen to someone like her.

She opened her eyes to the green dim glow of the alarm clock. The room was blue from the half-moon outside the window. It was four in the morning, late enough to call it a night.

She sat up from her bed and threw off the covers, but not before turning on the lamp on the nightstand.

To keep from stepping on anything unfortunate, of course. She was not afraid of the dark. She never was.

She forced herself to walk out of her bedroom door and down the pitch black hallway. Forced herself to keep her steps from quickening as her heart jumped at the thought of _something _lurking in the shadows behind her. From letting out an unconscious cry of fear as she passed the closed doors.

She found herself in the sitting room again, where a light was already on. She let out a breath of relief as she bathed in the light. Shadows were outnumbered here.

Only, it took her longer than usual to notice that the lights were on for another reason—another person.

She saw him from the corner of her eye and she spun around immediately. He was sitting on the couch, book in one hand and a pen in the other. His eyes watched her meticulously from the top of the book.

Natasha swallowed, urging her heart rate to slow down.

"Looks like we can both catch each other by surprise pretty well," she said.

She couldn't see the bottom half of his face from behind the book, but she hoped he was smirking. She doubted he was, considering how his fingers trembled. He had been deathly distant these past days, ever since the SHIELD incident. She couldn't deny that it was disappointing; it was as if they regressed closer to the start. She didn't bother denying her worry.

"Can you not sleep or are you forcing yourself not to?" said Natasha, sitting next to him.

He cocked an eyebrow, as if to ask if it made a difference.

"You seem like the type to lack self-preservation," said Natasha. "Sleep is good for you. Go sleep. Or else I have to kick your ass, remember?"

Loki lowered his book, eyes narrowed.

"I at least slept a couple of hours earlier. You stayed up all night, didn't you?" she said.

He waved a hand flippantly and looked away.

"It totally matters. If you needed sleeping aid, Clint has melatonin, except I don't think that's the problem." She reached over and snatched the book from Loki's hands. Loki glared at her and reached out a hand demandingly. She desperately wished she had her tampons to shove into his hand this time.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's impolite to not give someone your full attention when they're talking to you?" she said, dangling the book before him.

His eyelid twitched in irritation. She couldn't help but grin.

"Let me guess. Thor did this to you all the time."

He nodded.

"Well, better get used to it," said Natasha. She nodded to the pen in his hand. "What's that for?"

He hesitated before shrugging nonchalantly.

"Don't give me that," she said. She glanced down at the book in her hand. There was no title on its red leather, and when she skimmed the pages they were completely blank. Lines and lines of empty spaces.

"Were you trying to write something before I came in?" said Natasha.

Loki shook his head.

"You're lying," said Natasha.

Loki glared at her. How dare she doubt the prince of lies? She could practically hear him simper those words in her ears.

"I don't know about you," said Natasha, "but most people don't have an empty notebook and pen without having the intention of putting something on it. Even if you are somewhat unpredictable."

He tossed the pen onto the coffee table and stretched his arms over his head, sinking lower into the leather. Natasha felt something of discomfort stir within her; ever since SHIELD it was like he drew a gauze curtain between them, hiding behind the translucent cloth so that everyone around him _knew _he was still there, but could not see him. He was difficult to read to begin with; now, he was sinking into himself until his own lights grew dim.

"I haven't seen you in a while, you know," said Natasha.

His hair was long when they first met, but now it was soft and curled just slightly at the nape of his neck. She wondered if change could be measured with rulers or teaspoons, for if they could then Loki would have been a changed person by a mile.

He shrugged, as if the thought of his absence never occurred to him.

"What, you didn't miss me a single bit?" said Natasha.

He cracked a smile at this and she felt a bit of weight fall from her heart.

"You haven't seen anyone much lately," said Natasha. "Not in a way of avoiding us, like locking the doors or hiding around the corner when we come around, but you don't…when we talk to you, it's like the words slip past you and you aren't trying to catch them. And when we try to get a response from you, you barely say—well, you barely do anything."

Loki narrowed his eyes slightly, turning his gaze to the coffee table. Natasha set the book down and turned to fully face him.

"Are you angry with us?" she said

Loki shot Natasha a befuddled look.

"You're upset with something," said Natasha. "Could it possibly be us?"

He shook his head vigorously, almost indignant that she suggested such a thing. Her lips curled into a sad smile.

"Are you angry with yourself, still?"

Loki bit his lip. For the God of lies, he didn't seem to be able to hide his emotions around her; but perhaps for once he wasn't trying.

"Are you?" she said.

He shrugged. It wasn't one of elusion.

"What are you feeling?" she said.

He ran a hand through his black hair and his eyes darted to the pen on the table. For a moment Natasha's excitement flared, expecting him to take the pen and finally shape his emotions and thoughts into words. However, he steered clear from the pen and notebook, and only gave Natasha a shake of the head to suffice for an answer.

"You can tell me," she said. "I'll be here."

He shook his head more vigorously, pushing her hand away. She pulled back, slightly unnerved, but she did not press further. Maybe he didn't understand how he felt himself. Maybe he didn't trust her that deeply yet.

And that desire to sink into him, read and live his thoughts, to understand his every fiber and find what needed to be fixed the most in him, grew hungrier within her. For one whose eyes were so clear and honest, his entire being seemed so far away, like a lighthouse in the night that was nothing but a twinkling light from the distance and she couldn't tell if it was a star or a pyre.

"I wish I knew," said Natasha. "I'd like to help."

He gave a sidelong glance at her before tilting his head slightly.

"If it keeps you up at night like this," said Natasha, "I'd like to give you rest."

He raised his eyebrows humorously before tapping her eyes.

"What?" she said, batting his hand away.

He scowled before poking her between the collarbones accusingly.

"Why am _I _not sleeping?" she said.

He nodded, narrowing his eyes. Her lips quirked into a wry smile.

"I told you," she said. "I slept a little and then I woke up."

His face sobered, his thin lips pressed together. He lifted a hand to the side of her head; she backed away immediately, grabbing his wrist before he could move closer. He jerked back indignantly, his jaw set stubbornly. He stretched his long fingers until he tapped her temple gently. Assured that he meant nothing else, she released his wrist.

"I don't know what you're trying to say," she said.

He withdrew his hand, averting his gaze. She wished she could just beg him to speak—open his mouth, it couldn't be so hard—but she could see the frustration and conflict in his eyes. He must have been asking himself the very same question.

"Are you…?" she started, wondering if she could speak for him. "Are you asking, what I was thinking about?"

He gestured with his hand that her guess was more or less the truth.

"I wasn't thinking, I was asleep," she said.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead as he tried to articulate without moving his lips. She doubted that he would mime his thoughts if she asked.

"Are you asking why I woke up?"

He nodded feverishly, his eyes brightening. She let out a sigh of relief; her abilities to read Loki were not entirely spent. But the moment of celebration faded immediately when she realized that he wanted an answer—why she woke up in the middle of the night, why she did not try to fall asleep again, why she sought out for him of all people in the early hours.

She swallowed hard and opened her mouth—she swallowed again. Honesty was not her strength. To never lie was a sly skill; to tell the truth was surrendering all her weapons, stripping away her armor, and letting herself free-fall, whether into someone's arms or a black void, she did not know.

"I had a nightmare," she said, her voice quiet.

She glanced at him. He turned to face her, his eyes and hands open. He was one of the few people she ever knew that listened so intently and wholeheartedly.

"I still kind of remember it," she said. He did not ask what she dreamt of, but he did not need to. "I was on a ship, and it was in the middle of a storm. The ocean was trying to swallow us whole, and I was the only one left on the ship. Everyone else—I don't know who—had ropes tied to their waists and were overboard, bobbing up in the waters and trying to get back on board."

She could see it vividly etched in her mind and she clenched her teeth. She didn't realize that she was gripping the sleeve of her hooded sweatshirt until she could feel her nails digging into her palm through the cloth. She released them immediately and hid her hands in her overlarge sleeves.

"I was at the edge, near the railing," she said. "That's where the ropes were tied to. The people, they were calling out to me. Crying for help, asking me to pull them in. They were nearly drowning, and every time they tried swimming closer, the waves would just push them away."

She looked away from Loki, pretending to be distracted by something outside of the window. The sky was stormy dark gray-blue, hints of dawn seeping into the sky. She had always imagined that sunrises banished nightmares without exception, but how could they if they poisoned themselves during the day? Were dreams not reflections of waking?

"I was just—I was so emotionless, and remorseless, and merciless, listening to them cry." she said. She wondered if she would regret speaking of this to him—if by the time she finished she wished she never spoke a word. But here, now, she couldn't stop herself from speaking and she was so desperate for someone to _listen. _To almost understand.

"Next thing I know it, I was taking a knife from my side and cutting the rope. I let them drown—I watched them drown in front of me. Just—one by one, I slit the ropes and watched them flail in the water before sinking and drowning. And when the storm calmed, the bodies floated facedown, bloated and just…dead. Drowned."

She rubbed the back of her neck, never taking her gaze away from the window. "I don't remember why, but all of a sudden I became afraid, looking at their bodies. Something turned on in me and I suddenly realized I should be afraid, and then I was. I was just—so afraid that seconds later I woke up, and I couldn't fall back asleep."

Drowned bodies. Faceless bodies. What should it matter to her?

_Help me, _they cried. _Help me save me anything have mercy._

Stop it, Natasha thought. Stop. It was a dream. There were no bodies, no storm, no ship, nothing. Your mind is playing tricks on you.

But she felt that jolt of fear still in her that made her heart jump and her back itch with the possibility that the shadows behind her would become monsters and pull her from behind.

"It's stupid," she said. "I should stop talking. It's nothing."

Loki put a hand on her wrist. She pulled back quickly, unnerved by the sudden contact. Even he backed away perplexedly, as if his body had moved on its own accord and he had no idea what just happened. Her heart skipped a beat.

"I just hate it," she said. "I thought I had complete control over my mind, but then it pulls this on me."

He gave a crooked smile, as if to say, _Oh, I've been there before._

"Hopefully that thing didn't let you delve into my mind," she said, pointing to his chest. "Or you'd have seen it. And maybe you'd think I was pathetic for being afraid."

He shook his head.

_Not pathetic._

She shrugged. "I ought to be used to disturbing dreams. I've had them ever since the Red Room." She drew her feet onto the couch, sitting Indian style on the cushions. "Some things never go away."

She could feel his eyes on her, questioning her. "You said it yourself, didn't you? The horrors—they're a part of me and I can't run away from them. No matter what I do now. I thought I could just forget about them, but—" She shrugged and smiled ironically. "I guess my subconscious proved me wrong. As it should."

He frowned slightly.

"I did things you would never expect of me," she said. "When I woke up, do you know what I realized at first? For the first several minutes, I couldn't remember if what I saw in my mind was a dream or a memory. I've done things close to it in real life. Barton told you everything, but I never told him everything. I told you that, didn't I?"

_But why not? _said his eyes.

She sighed wearily.

"Because he doesn't need to know," said Natasha. "I don't need everyone to know too much when there's more than enough right now."

He crossed his arms in a challenging manner.

"I sure as hell am not a saint," said Natasha. "I've done too much. Nightmares are only a small portion of what I deserve."

His gaze dropped to his lap. He bit the tip of his tongue, his eyebrows knitted with thought. Then, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before leaning to the coffee table and taking the pen and paper.

Her heart jumped and she took a sharp intake of breath in anticipation. He clenched his teeth, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at the pen and notebook in his stiff hands, before resolutely clicking open the pen and flipping open the notebook, letting the ink sink onto the white. She leaned closer, breath quickening as she waited for his thoughts to squeeze themselves into words she could understand.

But his hands did not write. The pen skidded across the paper with mild expertise, sketching shapes within the borders. He drew upon the paper swiftly, like the neighborhood artists in the park who captured scenery before it shifted and distorted like a pool of water.

She waited with baited breath as the lines entwined to form shapes and familiarity. The figure in the middle—it looked like a woman, with her neck craned so her currently featureless face watched the sky, arms outstretched as if ready to take off at any moment.

When Loki gave the paper woman a nose and eyes, closed in bliss, Natasha thought she recognized her.

When Loki gave her lips, Natasha realized that he was drawing her.

"Never knew you were an artist," said Natasha. "You made my lips really big."

He rolled his eyes and smiled. As he fine-tuned the details, Natasha saw that her ink counterpart was smiling. Laughing, maybe, if paper had voices. Arms outstretched and without a care in the world. No background was etched behind her, no reason given for why she was so happy, only her grinning self sinking into the pages.

"Wow," she said.

The Natasha on the paper looked…beautiful.

She wondered if she was ever so happy that he could portray her as so in such an enchanting way; she couldn't help but yearn to know, to line the mental photographs of herself every time she wasn't sad and see if she ever looked that way, that magical.

Loki turned the notebook and held it in both hands up to her eye level. He extended his arms to her, nearly shoving the portrait into her face. She accepted it, her eyes tracing each curve of the smile, the lines upon her eyelids as they were squeezed shut with laughter. She wondered what would make her so carefree as this—only when she could see how possible it was, she hungered for it.

_You shall have your happiness, _said the open-mouthed grin.

_No matter what you ever did, _said the outstretched fingers,_ you will find your peace. _

_And you won't be alone, _said the long white fingers that still rested underneath her hands.

She looked up, a tumult of emotion raging inside of her. He looked away, slipping his fingers away from underneath her grasp. She tightened her grip on the notebook and offered him a smile—only a fraction of the sheer intensity that her paper doll was so blessed with, but it was everything of her.

"Thanks," she said. "Thank you."

He smiled softly and set down the pen down on the table. Her heart skipped a beat when she glanced down at the sketch again. She couldn't help but laugh; were her lips really that plump? But even in their size, the smile they held was stunning. She wondered if everyone in Asgard smiled so genuinely that they never had to apply their lipstick of lies to mask them; how else would he know how it looked like to capture it in ink?

"I hope you know," said Natasha, tracing a finger along the lines, "that I think the same for you too, Loki. That you ought to find your peace. That you'll be truly happy again. And you won't be alone."

When she looked back at him, though, she felt her blood run cold.

Loki was crouched over slightly, his hands upon his knees. But she saw the strain in his muscles as he held his knees stiffly, how braced his thin shoulders were, how his head was bowed as if in pain.

She immediately dropped the notebook and fell to her knees in front of him, putting her hands upon his shoulders. They were terribly thin, as stiff and sharp as stones. She tried to shake him enough to rouse his attention, but he barely budged.

"Loki?" she said. "Loki, can you hear me? What's wrong?"

She could see how deeply his chest rose and fell as he gulped for air. He raised his shaking hands to press them against his ears as if to drown out the sound of her voice. She couldn't see his face in the shadows and her heart seized with apprehension.

"Loki, where does it hurt?" She cupped his face and lifted it for her to see. "Loki, what's—?"

The words caught in her throat.

An unnaturally blue sheen colored his eyes.

Before she could cry out, Loki lunged at her.


	22. Chapter 22

**I hope everyone had a happy Christmas day! My sissy got me a Thor cup and made me a magnet with Thor and Loki hanging by a thread. T'is so adorable. Have a happy new year, everyone!**

* * *

The moment Natasha felt Loki's fingers wrap around her neck, she knew she could not hesitate. She fell onto her back and curled her legs up, kicking Loki hard in the chest as he fell upon her. He flipped over, crashing onto his back opposite of her, but she barely had time to pull herself up onto her knees before he was already on his feet, ready to strike.

_This isn't real, _Natasha thought as she groped behind her for anything to use to protect herself. Loki's eyes were so blue that they nearly burned. _This isn't him, this isn't real, this is—_

He darted toward her again and she reacted immediately. She hooked her ankle around the leg of the wooden lamp table beside the couch and swung it in front of her, hurling it toward Loki before he could reach her. He tumbled over it before it could crash into him.

_Recalibration recalibration recalibration recalibra—_

He struck her; she slammed against the wall, her head spinning so hard she could barely breathe. She had barely enough time to process before his fist came flying at her again. She spun out of the way; his fist sank deep into the plaster, reopening old wounds.

This was not Loki's fighting style in the slightest. Whatever had gone wrong with him took more than just his mind—his body was a puppet.

"JARVIS, call help!" she said, diving behind a coffee table just in time before she could be thrown out the window.

"_Right away, Ms. Romanoff."_

How could JARVIS sound so calm at a time like this?

She crawled out of her refuge, using a magazine rack to catch Loki's foot before it could stomp down on her. His ankles caught in the metal grating, she twisted the rack hard, making him lose his balance and fall onto his side.

Before Natasha could gather her offense, Loki's body jerked, curling inward as if shrinking away from her. His hands flew to his eyes, covering them from view, his mouth twisted in a pained snarl.

She hesitated, her breath heavy and arms poised to attack.

He kicked violently as if someone abused his reflexes—as if a phantom was wrestling him. His teeth were clenched, both hands over his eyes as if he wanted to tear them out.

"Loki?" she said breathlessly.

If he still had a voice, he would be screaming. His body twisted , his nails digging into his forehead. He was _writhing._

He's fighting, thought Natasha. He's fighting it off, he's fighting and he—

In a split second, Loki went from thrashing in pain to a cold, murderous warrior. Suddenly, he was on his feet again, his face unmarred with agony as he sprung at Natasha, shoving her back until she tumbled backward over a chair. She hastily reposed, grabbing hold of the edge of the chair before she fell from it and using it to push back Loki.

"Loki, you have to fight it!" said Natasha. "Whatever it is, it's not you. You have to _fight it_!"

His eyes were positively _glowing._

She clenched her teeth, mentally apologizing to Loki as she swung her leg around and slammed her foot against the side of his head. He stumbled back, bleeding from the temple. There was not a single sign of pain on his face.

His horrifyingly apathetic face was what scared her the most. It was as if he wasn't even alive.

She jumped over an armchair before he could attack her, falling roughly against her back behind it. It nearly knocked the breath out of her, but she mustered her strength to kick against the back of the chair and send it flying toward Loki, colliding with him.

He fell back against the coffee table, sprawled on the marble. She searched wildly for something—anything to subdue the powerful god. A vase against the head? A taser, even? Before she could consider, she realized with alarm as the blue in Loki's eyes unexpectedly flickered. That very moment, his eyes widened and his hand flew to his face to cover them again. His body revolted as his bones fought against the outside force as if his limbs were chained back.

"Loki, you're almost there," Natasha said, trying to catch her breath. "Loki, you can hear me, can't you? You're almost there. Fight it off—you can do it. You can do it. You're stronger, you're better—_No!_"

Before she could finish, Loki raged forward, his face completely erased of its previous battle. She grabbed the tall lamp from the corner of the room and swung it dangerously. He ducked easily, stealing a moment to swipe the letter opener from the bookshelf and hurl it at her. It caught her side and she swallowed down a gasp of pain.

_Damn you to hell for leaving letter openers lying around, Stark._

She looked up to Loki and she nearly screamed.

A cruel, unprecedented, insane grin—Loki was now _smiling._

Her heart beating wildly, she swung the lamp around, catching his shoulder. He did not shy away from the blow, and his body distorted itself despite it with such power as if she never dealt him a single blow.

"Loki, stop!" Natasha said. His fist came flying toward her and she barely had time to parry his wrist, twisting his arm until he bent just enough for her to use a kick to slam him against the ground. He was on his feet as soon as he fell, despite the blood and bruises.

"It's the Mind Gem that's doing this to you," Natasha said. More to herself than to Loki (_this isn't real, this isn't real_). "Loki, wake up. Wake up!"

She saw no green in his eyes and she wondered if she would ever see them again.

_(And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work and when he screams, I'll split his skull.)_

Before she could yell, the door flew open with a deafening crash. Clint was at the doorway—his eyes fell upon the scene and they widened with anger and horror. She saw the bow in his hand. She saw his fingers curling around the arrow.

"No!" she said. "Don't shoot him!"

The grin on Loki's face slid off, leaving that dauntingly blank slate once again. He turned to face Clint, his cerulean eyes flashing. Clint strung the arrow immediately, aiming it straight at Loki's chest.

Natasha snatched the heavy vase from a table and held it aloft, ready to strike the back of Loki's head with it. Just as she brought her hand down, Loki's hand shot up and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop the vase to her feet. He twisted her arm until she gasped, her bones searing.

Twang. An arrow pierced Loki in the shoulder. He let go of her and she backed away immediately, raising her eyes desperately at Clint. Clint's face was contorted with fury, another arrow already properly strung and pointed at Loki.

Loki advanced toward Clint. Clint released another arrow, but this time, Loki swiped his arm and knocked it off its course before it could come in contact with him.

"Don't hurt him, Clint!" said Natasha.

"Easier said than done," said Clint just before Loki's fist collided against his chin. Clint stumbled back before running forward and tackling Loki to the ground. The two tumbled onto the floor, trying to wrestle their way to the advantage.

"Clint, let him up—let him raise his head," Natasha yelled, grabbing hold of the neck of the vase again.

"Are—you—kidding me?" Clint said.

"Trust me on this!" said Natasha.

"Oh, goddammit." Clint took in a deep gasp as if he was about to submerge in cold water before letting himself fall onto his back, letting Loki have the upper hand on top of him. The moment Loki was on all fours above Clint, his fist raised, Natasha slammed the vase against the top of Loki's head. The vase shattered on impact and Loki fell immediately. Clint threw Loki off of him, rolling out of the way.

That very moment, Thor and Steve came bounding into the room as Loki cowered in pain on the carpet, shards of the vase still caught in his hair. Thor's eyes landed on Loki and without asking a single question he raced to Loki's side.

"Thor, be careful—" said Natasha.

"What have you done to him?" Thor said, his mouth curled into a snarl.

"What has she done to him?" said Clint, pushing himself off the ground. "Don't you mean what has _he _done to _her_?"

"What happened?" Steve said, his eyes wide. "JARVIS said something about a fight—what happened?"

"You, grandpa, are the slowest asshole in the goddamn world," said Clint. "Couldn't you have gotten here a little earlier?"

Thor ignored everyone. His hands curled around the arrow still jutting out of Loki's shoulder, more than half of it snapped off from the tussle. Pinching the splintered ends, he yanked it out in a fluid motion. Loki jerked in pain and he pounded his fist against the ground.

"Loki, are you all right?" said Thor, pulling Loki into a sitting position and brushing the pieces of porcelain from his head. "Loki, what happened?"

Loki was breathing heavily, blood dripping from his face. When he raised his eyes to Thor, Natasha couldn't help but release a sigh of relief; his eyes were blessedly green and pure. He jumped at the sight of Thor, backing away slightly, his hand pressed against the side of his head.

"We better get Bruce to check that out," said Steve. "He'll bleed out if we don't."

"Whoa, whoa, wait up a second here," said Clint. "Aren't we going to ask the really obvious question of _why the hell Loki was attacking Natasha in the first place_?"

"He attacked you?" Thor said, turning sharply to Natasha.

"He wasn't himself," said Natasha, her mind whirring with realization. She crouched in front of Loki, putting her hands on his shoulders. He winced. "His eyes were blue. Blue like the Mind Gem."

"Blue eyes?" said Steve. "Like—like Clint, when he was under mind control?"

Clint stopped short, his eyes hardening at the thought.

"Something like that," said Natasha. "Loki—Loki, something entered your head. Something that made you fight us, and when you had control over yourself, you tried to fight it."

Loki brushed his finger across his eyes. A look of dread passed across his face.

"Was it Thanos?" said Natasha. "Loki—was it Thanos that was in you?"

"How do you know?" said Clint.

"It was as if Loki was completely gone from his own body," said Natasha. "As if someone was in him, fighting with him, seeing…seeing for him."

She looked deep into Loki's eyes. They were brilliantly green and she could see the distress, the confusion and panic so easily in them.

"JARVIS, bring Bruce here," said Steve. "He's bleeding all over the place. You two did a number on him."

Clint grunted. Natasha pressed her lips together and pressed her hand against Loki's wound. Loki suppressed a wince.

"Every time you came to," she said, "you tried covering your eyes. As if you wanted to stop seeing. Why?"

Loki turned his head away from her. She grabbed his chin and turned him to face her.

"Loki, this is important," she said. "Is Thanos seeing through you? Is he using your mind so you could see and think for him?"

Whatever color Loki had regained in the past several days had drained away immediately, his eyes never leaving Natasha. Finally, he gave a stiff nod.

Natasha backed away, numbed. Steve bent down, using a pillowcase to stem the bleeding on Loki's head. His lips were pursed with anxiousness.

"I always see you bleeding now," he said to Loki.

Thor's eyes darted nervously from Natasha to Steve.

"Agent Romanoff," he said. "Are you suggesting that Thanos possessed Loki to spy on you and the others?"

"Yes," said Natasha. She rubbed her wrist; they were bruised from Loki's sudden grip on her when she tried to hit him across the head. "Thanos was trying to use Loki to get information on us."

Loki turned his head sharply. Steve steadied him, placing more pressure on the wound.

"Don't, Loki," said Steve.

Loki's hands gripped into quivering fists.

"Loki kept trying to stop himself from fighting or seeing me," she said. "Thanos was trying to get Loki to attack us so he could see how we fought. And he learned how to counteract us—quickly."

Clint stiffened, his hands still gripping his bow protectively.

"He did that with the aid of the Mind Gem?" said Thor. "But how? And why now?"

"I don't know that," said Natasha. "Loki, do you?"

Loki sat up straighter, flinching when his wounds twang.

"Well, shit," said Clint. "If Thanos can tap into Loki's mind like some Harry Potter plot twist, what the hell are we going to do? We can't let him near anything related to SHIELD or us, or anyone."

"You will not lock him away," Thor said immediately. At the suggestion, Loki swallowed hard.

Before Clint could argue, Bruce came running into the room, still clad in his sleeping clothes. He nearly tripped over the fallen magazine rack and when he saw the state that Loki was in, he groaned.

"What the hell happened this time?" said Bruce.

"Loki got hurt," said Steve.

"Really? Because when JARVIS called me down here urgently, I thought I was getting invited to a tea party." Bruce kneeled at Loki's side. Steve squeezed himself out of the way, stretching out his arm so he could still keep a hold of the cloth against Loki's bleeding head from the other side of the couch. Bruce checked the shoulder and the cuts, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

"These wounds are strained," he said.

"His body kept fighting even when he got hurt," said Natasha. "They would have hurt them even more."

"Which brings me to my original question," said Bruce. "What the hell happened?"

"Loki got possessed by the Mind Gem—or Thanos," said Thor, watching Loki's face carefully. "It prompted Loki to attack."

Bruce drew the reddened cloth away from Loki's head and grimaced at the sight. Loki pushed Bruce's hand away, a scowl on his face.

"This is no time to be arrogant," said Bruce.

Loki's glare only sharpened. His eyes fell to Natasha's side and he clenched his teeth. She glanced down, only to see a splotch of her own blood on the side of her T-shirt. She clapped a hand quickly over it, mentally cursing Tony and his letter openers all over again.

"What's wrong?" said Bruce, noticing Loki's glowering. Loki reached out and tugged Natasha's hand away from her wound. Clint made a sound of indignation at the sight of Natasha's bloody side.

"It's nothing," said Natasha, slapping Loki's hand away. Loki's bottom jaw twitched. "I just got clipped on the side."

"I'm going to need a bigger first aid kit," said Bruce. "Everyone raise your hand if you're injured." No one's hands moved. "You are all awful liars."

"We should tell SHIELD about this," said Clint.

"We're not telling SHIELD shit," said Tony.

"Loki's like a security camera that Thanos can infiltrate," said Clint. "I don't really know why Thanos would want to know our fighting skills and how to get around us, but that's probably not a good thing."

"What _would _Thanos want to do with information about us, anyway?" said Steve.

Bruce consented to treating Loki's wounds, much to Loki's displeasure. He had tried to approach Natasha first, but Natasha gave him such a death stare that probably made the Hulk cower inside.

"He probably wants to fight Earth," said Bruce. "And he knows how you guys fought off the Chitauri last time; he'd probably make sure you wouldn't be a threat."

"But if he got a hold of that Infinity Gauntlet thing, wouldn't he already have the power to destroy us without any effort?" said Steve.

"He probably doesn't have it yet," said Tony. "He's biding his time. Wants to wipe out Earth while he's waiting for it to satisfy his woman."

"And he needs the Mind Gem, still," Natasha said, her face drawn. "He must have known enough that we were keeping him around to send the Chitauri here. He knows to get to him, he has to get through us."

Clint ran a hand down his face, stress drawing lines down his face. Natasha shot a nervous glance at him.

Loki suddenly grabbed Thor's sleeve, his nails digging into Thor's wrist. Thor put a hand on Loki's bleeding shoulder.

"What is it, Loki?" said Thor. "What do you want to tell me?"

Loki clenched his teeth in anxiety, his eyes darting around him at everyone else.

"He wants to speak to me in privately," said Thor.

"Let me treat his wounds first," said Bruce.

Loki shook his head pushing Bruce away with one hand. Bruce pulled back, irate and confused, but he reluctantly gathered his supplies into his first aid kit.

"After you're done, I'm working on you immediately," said Bruce, rising to his feet.

"Whoa, whoa, wait, you're actually consenting?" said Tony. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"An unlicensed one," said Bruce. "Make it quick, all right?"

"Wait," said Natasha, though she had nothing more to say. She felt this gnawing desire to stay behind, to find out what Loki had to say to Thor and to Thor only. She got stabbed by a puny letter opener of all things—she deserved to know the truth.

"Nat, just leave them alone," said Clint.

Natasha turned sharply to Clint, but she took in the bruises brushed on his face and she sank in silence. She glanced back at Loki and Thor, reluctance drawing her back. Loki did not take his eyes off of her—they were hardened like marbles.

"Okay," she said.

No, it wasn't okay. Loki just got possessed to attack her much like what happened to Clint years ago (why was it always _her_?) and now he must have had some profound epiphany that only Thor was allowed to know. But she like everyone else filed out of the room, shell-shocked at what it was that actually occurred.

"Dammit," said Clint the moment the door closed. "Dammit, I was afraid this was going to happen. I knew something like this was going to happen."

"Which part?" said Tony, cocking an eyebrow.

"We're dealing with the ex-war criminal that bit off more than he could chew, and now that Thanos guy is more and more dangerous," said Clint. "Thanos plus ex-war criminal? No. Not a combination I want. There has to be another way."

"Another way than our way? What is our way, even?" said Natasha.

"Keeping him around and not having any safety precautions," said Clint. "Because of him, Thanos knows our advantages, Nat. If we ever have to fight against him or his forces, we're screwed. We can change up our style all we want, but Thanos wasn't looking for a pattern—he found a state of being."

Natasha felt a lump form in her throat. "Then it's too late in our case, isn't it?"

"What if he passes information to Thanos about Thor? Or Bruce, or Steve, or Stark? What if when he was at SHIELD, Thanos got front row seats to the agency that tries to protect the entire planet?"

"Loki had almost the same advantage when he was attacking New York City that one time," said Steve. "He got you and everyone else whose minds he took over to talk about everything you guys knew, didn't he? He knew a lot already. He knew about the Avengers, he knew about Bruce and the other guy, he knew about SHIELD, all that. But we still were able to beat him."

"One can argue Loki knew more than Thanos does," Natasha said, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Doesn't mean the threat still exists," said Clint. "He's a danger here, though. To everything and everyone."

"We're not handing him over to anyone," said Tony.

"I know we're not doing that," Clint said, glowering. "No matter where he is, Thanos can get to him. Unless we find something that actually caps the Mind Gem without killing everyone."

Tony's face hardened. "Yeah, well, you're very free to design a successful prototype by yourself and I'll fashion you a nice gold star as an award."

"Guys, let's not start," said Bruce.

"We cap the Mind Gem, it has no power to do anything," said Clint. "If we just figure out why that his magic just explodes out of nowhere like that—"

"Maybe it's like Stockholm Syndrome," said Tony.

"What's that?" said Steve.

"When a prisoner becomes emotionally attached to their captor," said Natasha. "Stark, what do you mean by that?"

"The Mind Gem has been quashing Loki's magic for who knows how long," said Tony. "Maybe—maybe the moment its influence was gone, Loki's magic just got so attached—maybe literally, maybe figuratively—to the Mind Gem that it just went wild."

"I thought you didn't believe in that kind of stuff," said Clint.

"I'm trying to adapt," said Tony. "He needs something to channel that magic safely—to keep it from bursting out intermittently from everywhere. If that's the case, then I would think the Mind Gem can be capped."

"So, a staff," said Clint.

They all turned bewilderedly at Clint.

"Where'd you get that idea?" said Steve.

Clint shrugged, averting his gaze. "When I was under Loki's—leadership, I sort of…well, he talked to me and I talked back. I asked him once why he had a staff. He told me it was to direct and concentrate his magic…makes it easier to focus it. So if Loki had a staff, his magic would have somewhere to flow, and not explode like it did before."

"Oh, thank goodness he only needs a magical staff. I was wondering when I could use the stack of those I bought for wholesale a month ago," said Tony.

"There's the one in SHIELD that he used years ago," said Steve.

"You're suggesting giving him the staff that could take over people's minds?" said Natasha.

"Hearts, not minds," said Clint.

"What's the difference?" said Natasha.

"A hell lot," said Clint.

"Why, do you not trust him with his little glowstick of destiny?" said Tony.

"That's not what I meant," said Natasha. "It's a no-go, anyway. SHIELD has put it under the tightest security. Only certain people are allowed to come in the same room as it. And they're not going to go soft on us just because we ask nicely."

"Do they think people will steal it and take over other people's will with it or something?" said Steve.

"It's a pretty logical fear," said Clint. "Only Agent Hill, Doctor Selvig, Fury, and Agent Vulk are allowed in the room."

"Who is Agent Vulk?" said Bruce.

"She's head of security," said Natasha.

"All right, so we can explain the situation to Fury," said Steve. "He'll give the staff to us."

"Oh, you naïve, innocent and ignorant soul," said Tony. "You really think SHIELD will hand Loki back the staff, no matter what his intentions are? The world council already demanded Loki be executed; if they catch a whiff of this, whether SHIELD consented to it or not, they'll go batshit insane on our asses."

"Well, it's pretty reasonable, considering we are the reason a couple of our colleagues are dead," said Clint.

Tony opened his mouth but closed it, having nothing more to say.

Natasha turned sharply to Tony. "What do you mean, executed?"

"Oh. Right. I didn't mention that, did I?" said Tony, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't worry. Fury already put his foot down, apparently. At least, that was before the whole exploding magic incident."

"He's already been brought to justice," said Natasha. "Why would they execute him? Without even a trial or anything?"

"If you haven't notice, Nat," said Clint, "not everyone's exactly a Samaritan."

"Fury doesn't agree with the council, so why wouldn't he let us have the staff?" said Steve.

"Fury's probably the only guy in SHIELD that doesn't want to kill Loki's guts," said Tony. "He might agree, but if anyone else in SHIELD finds out, you can bet they'll turn us in. And Loki's ass won't be the only one on the line."

"It was an accident," said Steve. "Loki didn't mean for that one day to happen."

"Yeah, well," said Bruce with a grunt, "I'm not entirely sure that makes a difference."

"So," said Clint. "We get to choose between getting blown up by Thanos or getting blown up by the council and SHIELD. Great."

"We're getting that staff," Natasha said resolutely. She stared challengingly at the others. "If Thanos wants to blow up the world, he's not going to do it through us."

"I'm in," said Tony.

"Are we going to talk about how we're going to get around doing it first?" said Steve.

"I don't know if you've caught on yet, Cap, but our plan of action is typically squeezing our eyes shut and counting down," said Bruce. He gave a short nod. "I'm in. It'll be essentially us against the world, but it's got to be better that than the potential destroyer of the universe, right?"

"I really ought to get used to these impromptu plans," Steve said with a rather wry smile.

Natasha forced herself not to turn to face Clint. As much as she desperately wanted Clint to agree, to take arms with them, she knew she couldn't force him. He had as much of a choice to say no as he did to say yes, and she knew too well if she turned to look at him expectantly then that choice would be squelched.

"Do we have any idea what we're getting ourselves into?" Clint said.

"You put it pretty brilliantly yourself," said Tony. "We die or we die."

Clint closed his eyes before giving an exasperated sigh. "Let's get that goddamn scepter."

Natasha was suddenly overtaken by the desire to wrap Clint in a bone-crushing hug. She put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it supportively. Clint returned the grip, his face clearly saying, _Don't make me regret this. _

"In the meantime," said Bruce, raising his eyebrow at Natasha and Clint. "You two no longer have an excuse to avoid me checking your wounds. You aren't leaving until I treat them, and then we can go on this potential suicide mission."

Clint and Natasha exchanged glances, swallowed their pride, and let Bruce tend to them in the hallway.

* * *

Thor carefully mopped the blood from Loki's forehead with a large wad of tissues, trying not to wince when he saw how quickly the blood seeped through the paper. Natasha no doubt dealt an effective blow on Loki, but who was to say that the influence of Thanos would not return in the near future? If they had to bash Loki on the head every time, they'd no doubt destroy his brain cells.

Loki was trying to edge away from Thor's tender hand, gripping at Thor's sleeve anxiously. He kept licking his lips, but his tongue was forcefully silent. His breathing quickened as his panic began to settle like oil and water; he held Thor's wrists possessively, trying to transfuse his thoughts into Thor through his skin.

"Loki, we must tend to your wounds first," said Thor.

Loki rolled his eyes and pressed his hand against the wound, closing his eyes. Before Thor could protest, the deep cut slowly knitted itself closed, the blood receding into his skin and fading away. As the wound healed itself, Loki's skin grew paler, his breathing heavier. Thor hastily pulled Loki's hand away, but not before the wound disappeared.

"Loki…" Thor said. How was he supposed to feel? If Loki didn't heal himself, he'd be hurt. If Loki healed himself with his magic, he'd still be hurt. There was absolutely no balance or middle ground, and Thor could only exist in a perpetual state of paranoia.

Loki raised his eyebrow challengingly at Thor before sobering immediately. He sat up straighter against the couch, pulling open his shirt to reveal his chest.

"Are you hurt?" said Thor.

Loki did not indicate an answer. He pressed his fingertips against his chest, his jaw set in concentration. As his nails dug into his chest, glowing blue lines carved themselves down his skin, macabre stitches of electric blue forming an X where the Chitauri had sliced him open. Thor realized that despite knowing of it for a long time, this was the first time Loki had ever revealed it to him willingly.

"Why are you doing this?" said Thor. He wished he could look away; to see even further what the Chitauri and Thanos had done to his brother made him nauseous with vehemence.

Loki took Thor's hand and brought it to his chest. Thor stopped him immediately.

"Are you mad?" said Thor. "Do not think that I do not know what happened to you when Banner touched your scar."

Loki punched Thor in the wrist before pulling at his hand more forcefully. Thor curled his hand into fists to keep his fingers from straying close to Loki's skin.

"Loki, I do not want to hurt you," he said. "What is it you're trying to show me?"

Loki clenched his teeth, looking as if he had every intention to rip his tongue out from frustration. He opened his mouth, trying to force a single sound from his throat, but he could only sputter frantically and silently. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself, before locking eyes with Thor. Thor noticed how Loki's eyes shone painfully.

_Trust me, _said Loki's hands as they took Thor's again, much more gently. _Don't you trust me?_

Thor held his breath. Why would Loki ask Thor to hurt him? He looked into Loki's eyes for any silent explanation, down to Loki's glowing chest, and he sighed, letting Loki guide his hands.

The moment Thor's fingers met Loki's chest, he was taken away. His body was sucked into a vacuum into nothingness and everywhere, everything, was heard. Voices, disembodied, as if every being was concentrated into pure sound. They were so clear and crisp it was like shards of glass slowly sliding into his skin.

_Midgard will fall so soon and so easily and he will not escape—_

_—nothing will stand in your way Master not foolhardy Chitauri not Earth's savage heroes not even the All-Father himself and you will stand before all their corpses—_

Thor could hear everything—the thoughts of voices so gravelly he wanted to scream just at the sound of them. He could recognize Thanos' voice immediately, but the others—the others, he did know. How could Thor hear them all, if he was here on Midgard with the others?

_Asgard will fall, Jotunheim will fall, Alfheim will fall, all will fall—_

_And Death will be pleased, be jubilant, be mine—_

Suddenly, Thor understood that he had a body—he had nearly forgotten how it felt to be solid. But despite this refound epiphany, Thor knew that this was not his body—not the one he was born in or the one he could master. This body was weak, was battered and tired, aching at every muscle and bone as if it had lived many millennia battered with a club.

This body was crouching on its knees against gritted glass—no, coarse earth. It was holding its breath, but why did it feel like it was crying?

A large, rough hand was running its hand down Thor's face, his hair, his neck and collar bone, down, down, down, and Thor inexplicably wanted to scream—

Something jerked his spirit away, as if a hook latched onto his nape and pulled him out. He stumbled back, fully in his own body and conscience, nearly crashing into the coffee table. His head spun and he heaved for air, his stomach churning unpleasantly. Loki too pulled back, gasping for air, his eyes squeezed shut.

"What—?" Thor coughed, thumping his chest. "What in the Nine Realms was that?"

Loki pressed a hand against his mouth, his face looking a pale tint of green. Thor sat up straight immediately, the throbbing in his head not ceasing.

"What is it, Loki?" said Thor.

Loki shook his head and slowly pulled himself onto his knees, crawling toward the wide windows that lined the living room. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, forcing himself to breath steadily in and out. One hand clutched his stomach as if he was about to be ill.

"Loki?" said Thor. He placed a comforting hand on Loki's back. Loki immediately spun around and knocked Thor's hand away, his eyes wide. When they landed on Thor, he recoiled slightly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his fear barely subsided. Dread pervaded Thor's thoughts as dawning realization rose in his mind.

"Were those your memories I nearly saw, Loki?" Thor said.

Loki did not acknowledge the question. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

"I shared your mind, for a moment," said Thor. "I heard what you would hear should the Mind Gem take its toll on you. You heard—you heard Thanos as well, did you not? He spoke of…he spoke of Midgard and all the other Nine Realms falling. He spoke of Death."

Loki stared intently at a pile of fallen books instead of at Thor.

"And—other voices saying something similar," said Thor. "We tapped into their minds, did we not? They were thinking of warring against Midgard, and soon everyone else."

It hit Thor all of a sudden. He had read into Thanos' mind. His _mind_!

"You can tap into Thanos' thoughts. What he thinks and what he wants," said Thor.

Loki nodded fervently.

"And we can understand what it is he plans to do next," said Thor, his voice raising. "You're using his cruelty against him."

Loki gave Thor a crooked smile that was nowhere near reaching his eyes. He took Thor's hand, pulling it toward his chest again. Thor could feel Loki's hand shaking.

"Are you sure about this?" said Thor. "Are you all right?"

Loki waved his other hand to dismiss the question before pressing Thor's hand against his chest. What Loki could not tell the others of what he saw, Thor could experience first-hand.

The sensation of being unmade. The sounds that solidified into shadows. The voices that snarled and spat.

_The Infinity Gauntlet is not a challenge, and yet—_

_The Chitauri are failures, they are not the answer—_

_If they cannot succeed subtly in Asgard will Midgard be any better will it b_

_Death will have her war, will have her feast—_

_Where is my monster my monstermymons ter my MONSTER?_

_We are two steps closer my master two steps two closer steps is that not _

_The All-Father prepares for you my lord he seeks vengeance against you is that not wha_

The voices distorted, and Thor saw bloodstained rocks. He saw shattered bones, and an uprooted head. He felt pain, but he could understand why.

He could feel Loki trying to pull him away, but Thor inexplicably could not let himself leave his brother's memories—his mind.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and looked down. Blood and brown smeared his skin.

His stomach churned.

He flew back, falling onto his back. Loki crashed against the glass, hands pressed against the side of his head, his teeth bared, eyes squeezed shut.

Thor felt sick; realizing the gravity of Loki's memories. He pushed himself from the ground and swiftly pulled Loki into his arms. Loki squirmed, pressing his hands against his ears as he sucked in breath through clenched teeth. He thrashed in Thor's embrace, fear overpowering his perception of reality for a moment before he fell resignedly into Thor, arms wrapping around his shoulder.

"It's okay, Loki," said Thor. "It's all right. You're safe here. You are safe."

But Thor could not help but feel his insides wring at the revelation he had just heard inside Loki's head. Thanos was not dormant, and if Odin was truly seeking to take arms against him, then war would be nearly inevitable.

Loki pulled away from Thor, holding up his fingers uneasily. Thor saw that they were tipped with blood. He jumped, thinking that Loki had hurt himself, only to remember that Loki had been holding onto his shoulder earlier. He stared incredulously at Loki's hand before reaching behind him and fingering his shoulder himself. It stung on contact, and his fingers became wet with his own blood.

"What is this?" said Thor. He tried to turn his head to see his wound. Had he knocked it against the corner of the coffee table when he jumped back?

Loki's face was endlessly troubled. He pulled down the collar of his shirt until he revealed the arrow wound on the back of his shoulder that Clint had given him. It had slowed its bleeding, but the wound was still gaping and dark.

"Does it hurt?" said Thor.

Loki forced Thor to turn around and tugged at the collar of his nightshirt until his bleeding shoulder peeped out. With difficulty, Thor turned his head to see what Loki saw. From the reflection against the dark window, he could see a familiar gaping hole lined with blood on his back.

"It looks exactly like yours," Thor said.

Loki drew away, his face white. Thor pulled back on his shirt, his thoughts spinning.

"I shared your mind," Thor said faintly. "I shared it enough to know what you heard. To—to remember what you remembered."

Loki looked ill.

"But it did more than that, didn't it?" said Thor. "The longer I was linked to the Mind Gem with you, the more I was linked _to _you. I shared—I shared your body, for a moment, didn't I? I shared your life."

Thor remembered how the blue tendrils of the Mind Gem's power curled around his hand when Loki overexerted his magic that day in the streets of New York City—how worn and faded he felt for a moment afterward. His eyes lit up and he reached out to Loki again; Loki backed away immediately.

"You could take some of my strength to heal, then," said Thor. "Share myself with me, Loki. The Mind Gem cannot take you completely if I am here as well. Your wound is not so strong that it will weaken me, but I am well enough to overcome it for you."

Loki shook his head, a look of absolute and frustrated incredulity.

"Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same for me," said Thor. "Considering you nearly drained your life out for me in the first place."

_This is different, _Loki's eyes said.

"This is madness," said Thor. "If two people delve into the power of the Mind Gem, they can read the same thoughts. Soon, they understand the same memories, relive the same details, become the same power of life. They become one within two. For everything is practically dependent on the brain, so if two people essentially share one…"

Thor rose to his feet, pacing back and forth, his mind racing. He had nearly melted his life into Loki's; whether it was a good thing or not was purely debatable. He had almost become one with Loki, meaning he bore the wounds that Loki bore, and Loki surely must have taken the health that Thor possessed. They had broken into Thanos' mind, broke into his thoughts, his plans, his—

"Then Thanos plans to wage war in the near future," said Thor. "He said he is two steps closer to possessing the power of the Gauntlet, yet he is absent of both the Mind Gem and everything else, and yet—"

Thor caught sight of the meaningful look on Loki's face and he jumped.

"He moved on while we lingered here on Earth," Thor said quietly. "He must have found a way to possess other Gems, or infiltrated Asgard to plan invading it himself. It must be the Chitauri, else—"

But Thor stopped short, his eyebrows furrowing. "But Thanos…he said that the Chitauri had failed him. That they were useless. I had assumed they meant on Midgard, when we fought them off, but he claimed that there were warriors in Asgard as well, and that they did the same in Midgard…surely they did not attempt to bring a mere platoon into Asgard and expect to succeed. Thanos is cleverer than that."

Loki rose to his feet hastily, standing in front of Thor. He spun his finger as if to make Thor repeat his last thought.

"Er—surely Thanos did not attempt to bring a mere platoon into Asgard and expect to succeed, as he tried on Midgard?" said Thor.

_Think, _Loki's eyes said. _Remember._

Thor felt frustration turn against himself as he tried to understand. He was never as sharp as Loki, nor nearly as wise. How was he supposed to figure out what Loki was thinking when he had evidently failed for most of their time growing up together?

"Thanos said," he said slowly, "that the Chitauri were failures…they were not the answers. Right? And that they failed to be subtle on Asgard, and he wondered if they would fail on Midgard as well…"

Thor's eyes widened. Of course. They had failed to be _subtly successful _on Asgard. _First_ on Asgard. Whatever Thanos had in store, whatever he had planned to use with the Chitauri, had yet to reveal itself fully on Midgard.

And if Thanos was two steps closer to taking the Gauntlet, which was on Asgard—

"Oh, brother," said Thor. "We are in quite a lot of trouble, aren't we?"


	23. Chapter 23

**I know I said I would update on Wednesday, but I couldn't help it. Who can say they updated on the LAST day of 2012? This Asian chick right here. Anyway, happy 2013 everyone! My new year's resolution: try not to freak out too much until Thor 2 comes to the cinema. Updates will return to the usual Monday by next chapter. Next chapter is going to be...frankly, pretty intense.**

**TheNelapsi drew another little Loki headshot inspired by this story! Please check it out on her dA account: /art/Remorse-344956526?q=gallery%3Athenelapsi%2F37061318&qo=2**

**(Also, I hope those that will read to the end of the story paid particular attention to the last chapter...I don't think I'm wrong when I say that in regards to the ending of the story chapter 22 is probably the most important in build-up)**

* * *

"Great," said Tony. "This is just freaking awesome."

The Avengers and Loki were gathered in the still-destroyed living room, the edges of dawn peeking over the tops of buildings. The ticklish fragrance of brewing coffee hung heavy in the air like a fog as the interrupted sleep schedule took its toll on everyone. Everyone except Tony, who was more than used to lasting a week without sleep, and evidently Loki and Thor, who needed little sleep to keep their bodies going.

"So," said Tony, rubbing his forehead, "you're telling us that Thanos probably has his hands on another Gem?"

"Yes," said Thor. He interlocked his fingers, resting them on his lips in thought. "The Mind Gem can only grant its powers to the one beholding it, who is Loki. Although Thanos can manipulate when Loki hears the thoughts of others, and potentially which thoughts, only Loki—and evidently those who virtually bond themselves to him—can experience it. Thanos should not be able to use it for his own benefit, not unless he possesses another Gem."

"Why the hell do you crazy people come up with these weapons of ultimate power that mean shit to the rest of us if someone bad gets their hands on it?" said Clint. "We've only got atomic weapons and all that and we're already floundering."

"Which Gem?" said Steve. "How come he has one and not the others?"

"The Mind Gem has been missing from the Gauntlet for a while already," said Thor, remembering the missing hole on the knuckle of the famed glove in Asgard's Vault. "I do not doubt that he would have the Reality Gem, which can distort reality however he wishes. He must have reversed the workings of the Mind Gem for his own benefit."

"A gem that distorts reality?" said Clint. "How are we all not already dead by now?"

"The Gem's full potential does not show until it works with the Gauntlet and all the other Gems together," said Thor. "Without the Gauntlet, the most the Reality Gem could accomplish would be to manipulate its fellow Gems for certain purposes. Nevertheless, its power is…foreboding."

"Your old man isn't doing a great job guarding the thing, is he?" said Tony with a snort.

On the couch beside them, Loki's eyebrow twitched.

"I have no certain idea what bodes in Asgard," said Thor. "Mother had hinted that many conflicts arise back home, but she did not say what. I, however—well, Loki and I—" Loki raised an eyebrow at Thor. "—we think we might know. And however Thanos planned it, he may be utilizing it here on Midgard."

"Can you tell us everything you know?" said Steve.

"The Chitauri are natural shape-shifters," said Thor. "They can put on the form of whatever creature they desire, should it aid them in battle. I fear that there may have been a Chitauri spy in Asgard that broke into the vault and managed to take the Reality Gem for Thanos. And with the Destroyer—well—destroyed—" He and Loki exchanged a knowing glance. "—it would have escaped easily."

"How do we know that it didn't take the entire Gauntlet?" said Bruce. "I don't know how exhausting it must be to carry a gem back and forth, but I think it would have at least crossed its mind."

"When Loki and I tried to read Thanos' mind, Thanos made passing references that the spy—if it truly is an imposter—was not as successful as he hoped," said Thor. "Perhaps he was caught early on, but not early enough to stop him from stealing the Reality Gem."

"Besides," said Natasha. "If he really did have all the other components of the Gauntlet and was just missing the Mind Gem, I feel like we would have noticed already."

"Whoa, hold up a little bit," said Steve, holding up a hand. "You say that what happened on Asgard may be happening on Earth right now, right?"

"Indeed," said Thor.

"So…so does that mean that there might be Chitauri spies on Earth?"

Thor hesitated before dipping his head into a nod.

"Whoa—shit—okay," said Tony, backing up. "A shape-shifting spy or two on Earth. This is going to turn into the McCarthy trials. How do we know one of us isn't the spy? Or someone from SHIELD?"

"Cut you open and see if you bleed red?" said Clint.

Loki shifted in his seat, but made no attempt to give his input.

"No—no, we are not going to freak out like this," said Steve. "We know each other well enough, we can tell if something's off—"

"Oh, I forgot, the Cold War was after your time, Cap," said Tony. "The whole point of the McCarthy scare was that no one could trust each other because no one was certain of the _whole truth_."

"Guys, calm down!" said Bruce. Everyone muffled their voices the moment they saw a hint of green pass Bruce's skin. "We've already got enough problems and getting worked up about whether or not the other person is an alien is not going to help. The less we trust each other, the less we can get done and the more that Thanos and his army can accomplish while we're chasing our own tails."

Everyone shrunk back in respectful intimidation. Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking in deep breaths before continuing.

"Okay. First. We know that Asgard was infiltrated and they're missing a gem. Chances are they're upping their security just as much if they caught the spy. Second, we know—or at least, we suspect—that there is an imposter here on Earth. What for, we don't know. Probably to find the last Gem, also known as Loki, and get his way around us. But most likely for Loki, because if he has all the Gems he needs then we aren't going to pose as much of a problem."

Loki crossed his arms across his chest, as if to shield the Mind Gem from all view.

"Second, Loki's magic," said Bruce. Loki perked up at those words. "We've reached something of a tentative conclusion about how to keep the Mind Gem suppressed but not have Loki's magic go all over the place, and that's if he has a staff."

Loki's eyes brightened at those words, but Thor furrowed his eyebrows.

"A staff may help him for a while," said Thor. "But if Loki let go of it for a moment, will his magic take advantage of it and go out of control."

"Bambi will just have to…not let go of the staff then," said Tony. Loki shot Tony a very skeptical look before Tony shook his head. "No, fine. Look, I still like to think I'm a genius, despite the last little slip-up. If I can have Loki's old staff with me to study, I think I can come up with something that could work like a staff until his magic calms itself back to normal, but look like a bracelet. Or a ring or something, if Loki's a fashionista."

"Better make it a ring," said Clint.

"Where is Loki's staff as of now?" said Thor. "We did not take it to Asgard."

"No, you left it with SHIELD," said Natasha. "Under extreme surveillance and security that challenge even me to get through."

"You? You, Natasha? One of SHIELD's deadliest and agile spies?" said Tony, throwing out his arms.

"Don't even try with your honeyed words, Stark, I'm being serious," said Natasha. "If there's one thing SHIELD hates right now, it's Loki. And the idea of Loki's staff being anywhere out of their own control and guard is blasphemy to them."

Loki narrowed his eyes.

"Where did you get the staff in the first place, Loki?" said Thor. "You never needed one before."

Loki leaned back in his chair, giving a casual shrug.

"What do you want to do?" said Clint. "Pull some Mission Impossible stunt to sneak the staff out?"

He caught Tony's look of expectation and he clasped his forehead with his hand. "That _is _what you're thinking, isn't it?"

"You guys are spies. SHIELD's spies! You know better than anyone else what's between us and that staff," said Tony. "Steve would think it against his morals, I would be blamed regardless of whether I do it or not, and Bruce—no offense, Bruce, but if he steps into SHIELD, they'll know immediately. The other guy's not on the guest list."

"Are you forgetting the fact that only about four people are ever allowed near that staff?" said Clint. "And surprise, surprise, neither Nat nor I are any of those people."

"Well," said Bruce, somewhat amused, "that's where the Mission Impossible part comes in."

"Oh, good," said Clint. "And how will we manage that? Seduce Fury?"

"Oh, hell no," said Natasha immediately.

"What I would pay to see that one," said Tony. "But seriously, whatever gets the work done. You—" He pointed at Loki, who straightened at the attention confusedly. "You need to fix JARVIS and pronto. If Nat and Clint have to sneak into SHIELD for this, they're going to get our support and JARVIS is the key."

Loki tapped his chest twice, fastening his gaze on Tony.

"Yes, I mean you. Who else can do it?" said Tony.

Loki shook his head and tapped his chest again. Natasha's eyes widened.

"No way," she said. "Out of the question."

He scowled at her and stood up, repeating the motion. The others gawked between Natasha and Loki, the mute conversation flying right over their heads.

"Remember the last time you went to SHIELD? Yeah, they're definitely going to have a problem if they see you back," said Natasha. "And if they hurt you, you know how many pissed off people there will be? I'll give you a hint: one of them will be me and I will be pissed off at _you_."

Thor turned sharply to Loki. "You do not mean to follow Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff, do you?"

"We have no room for tourists," said Clint.

"That's not a good idea," said Bruce. "You'll be in the most danger than the rest of us. They might use this as a failsafe reason to arrest you and lock you up, and we're not risking that."

Loki threw his hands in the air, as if to proclaim, _But it's _my _staff!_

"You're going to get your ass handed to you if you go," said Clint. "And if you don't have your magic, how are you going to defend yourself?"

Loki gave Clint a scathingly indignant look, so searing that even Clint had to step back.

"We already have to find a way to sneak the staff out of the headquarters," said Clint. "Don't ask us to sneak out a staff _and _the freaking god of mischief as well."

"To be fair, Loki is adept in the art of disguise," Thor said.

"Thor. Not helping," said Clint. "Nat and I can handle it on our own. We don't need his help."

Loki glared at Clint before turning to fully face Natasha.

"Oh great," said Natasha. "Oh no, don't you dare. Don't you _dare_."

Bright green eyes wide. Tragically sad eyebrows. The trembling bottom lip. The Asgardian puppy dog face in its full majesty.

"No, no, no, no, _no,_" Natasha said, turning away (the rest of the Avengers could only gape in absolute bewilderment with no idea what was going on). "You realize the more you do that face, the more I want to freaking _protect _you so I _won't _let you come with us at all?"

Loki only responded by leaning closer, squeezing himself into her line of vision again. Natasha growled and averted her gaze again.

"Not going to work. Not going to work on me. No. Stop. Stop your face. Stop it right now."

She could have sworn that she could see _tears_ welling so artistically in his eyes now.

"Okay, fine, fine, _fine_, do whatever you want, asshole, just stop it!" She shoved Loki hard in the chest before burrowing herself in the corner of the room, punching the wall.

Immediately, the tears vanished and the bottom lip ceased its quivering, and all that was left on Loki's face was a triumphant smirk.

"Did that actually just happen?" said Clint.

Thor had the look of absolute sympathy on his face, as if he could relate too well to Natasha's predicament.

Loki clapped his hands as if to say, _well that's settled, _before beckoning Natasha and Clint to follow him in an allonsy-fashion to begin planning. Natasha, still hiding her reddening face, gave the wall another good punch before stalking after him out of the room. Clint cast a pleading glance at the rest of the Avengers before Natasha could hook his elbow with her fingers and drag him through the doors. The other Avengers could only gape at the swinging door where they disappeared through, wondering what was it that just happened.

"If you don't mind me saying this, Thor," said Tony, "your little brother probably could take over any world he wanted if he didn't keep insisting on using an army."

* * *

Clint knew he had no superpowers to speak of. He had no armor that could send him flying to the stratosphere. He didn't have unbeatable strength and a Frisbee shield. He didn't have a Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll, to put it bluntly. He couldn't conjure lightning with a whack-a-mole sledgehammer, nor did he have the ability to kill someone with a pair of thighs.

But as he pulled back the string of his bow, he felt absolute power strumming through his veins. The arrow between his fingers, the elbow pulled back, the shot zeroed in—a slip of the hand would send this arrow flying through anyone's skull, whether it was made of bone or titanium. Power.

The target was a good sixty meters away, but his hands were perfectly still and the tip of the arrow only trembling a fraction of a millimeter. Taking in a deep breath, he released the string, and the arrow hit dead center in less than two seconds.

He checked the time on his watch. He had barricaded himself in Stark's training basement for a good hour already, coming immediately after Loki wheedled the layout of the SHIELD headquarters before retreating somewhere else to apparently concoct the plan himself, the arrogant bastard.

If Clint had to be honest with himself—and it wasn't a difficult feat—he had to admit that the thought of Loki leading him anywhere was a bad omen altogether. If past attempts were anything to base his assumptions on, when exactly was Loki ever _successful _in anything he planned?

Not that Clint ever brought that up to Loki, as much as he wanted to. The guy may not have his magic, but Clint too knew how Loki was able to bodily throw Stark out of a window.

Still, it was unsettling. In only the course of several months, they had gone from grudging enemies to circumstantial housemates, and now Loki was leading them to sneak into their own division's secrets. Out of context it spelled doom in every language, so why the hell was Clint even consenting to this?

Simple. Clint was probably suicidal by this point. It was the only reasonable explanation.

He pulled another test arrow from his quiver and strung it on his bow. The robotic target was programmed to move unpredictably across the room, jerking like a madman from corner to corner. With the release of the string, the arrow pierced its midsection cleanly.

Applaud broke out. Clint rolled his eyes; leave it to Stark to program praise into his training room whenever he made a hit. That was, until Clint realized that someone was actually in the room with him, clapping.

He turned around, hands flying to his arrow in defense, before grunting.

"Oh, it's you."

Loki was at the doorway, watching the moving targets pierced with Clint's arrows with interest. When he realized that Clint was gawking at him, he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Can I…help you?" Clint said with as much formality as an ice cube.

Loki shook his head. He waved his hand as if to urge Clint to go on doing whatever he was doing. Clint awkwardly shifted his attention back to the targets, drawing back the string. He could almost feel Loki's gaze freezing on his skin and he groaned inwardly. He never liked audiences, not even back in his circus days.

The arrow flew from his bow and shanked the head of the dummy. It ceased in its movements and hung lamely from its post.

"So have you spelled out some grandiose plan on how to get your magic wand back already?" said Clint. He turned around to realize Loki was no longer at the door. He took a one-eighty turn to find Loki at the weaponry station, admiring one of Clint's old bows.

"Oi," said Clint. "Don't touch those."

Loki looked over his shoulder toward Clint, almost challengingly.

"The least you could do is _ask_," said Clint.

Oh wait. Maybe that wasn't the most tactful thing to say to a mute person.

Loki made a gesture that almost screamed _I do what I want _before unhooking the bow from its place. Clint rolled his eyes, thankful that Loki took the less expensive one.

"Asshole," he said before shooting another arrow toward the target, not even sparing a glance at it. The arrow landed almost perfectly.

Loki cocked his head at Clint's impressive shot before holding out a hand to request an arrow. Clint raised his eyebrows.

"What, you want to have a go at it?" said Clint.

Loki nodded.

"Well, I dunno if you can," said Clint. "See, archery kind of requires a _lot _of upper body strength. Slenderness doesn't really help."

God, it was worth seeing Loki's grimace of irritation. Clint was going to have so much fun.

"Besides, these babies might not be the same as your medieval style of bow and arrow," said Clint. "It might explode in your hand or something."

Loki looked down warily at his bow in his hands. Clint hid a snicker behind his fist.

That was, before Loki bonked him on the head with said bow.

"Hey!" Clint said, rubbing the top of his head. Loki grinned. "What are you, five?"

Loki crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow boldly. Clint narrowed his eyes before tossing an arrow at Loki. Loki caught it between his fingers swiftly.

"All right, let's see what you can do," said Clint. "Don't hurt yourself."

Loki took Clint's place as Clint stepped aside, drawing the bow. He certainly knew the techniques of archery; his poise reminded Clint of a prince straight from a fairy tale—taut and barely trembling limbs, ramrod straight back, eyes open and focused. Throw in a gust of fashionable wind and a horse and he'd be set.

"Lift your elbow a bit more," said Clint. "It's a little too low."

Loki scowled at Clint.

"Are you really going to doubt me?"

Loki ignored Clint and kept his elbow where it was. When he released the string, the arrow sped toward the moving dummy. It hit just three inches off target.

"Ooh," said Clint. "It burns you to have come so close."

Loki glowered at Clint before holding out a hand for another arrow. Clint rolled his eyes and relented. Loki turned swiftly and restrung the bow, face absolutely still with concentration as he focused on the targets. Clint noted with triumph that Loki's elbow was a mite higher than the first time.

_Thwack. _The arrow darted from the bow and punctured the target on the mark. Loki raised his eyebrows as if secretly impressed.

"Told you," said Clint.

Loki bit his tongue to keep himself from sticking it out at Clint. He handed the bow to Clint before retreating to the back of the room. Clint couldn't help but chuckle to himself, double-checking the bow to make sure Loki didn't accidentally-on-purpose tamper with the weapon.

_Sfft. _He jumped back, barely missing the flash of silver that flew past him. He nearly fell onto his back in surprise as the knife cut through the air and with a satisfying thud stabbed the target in the head. He turned back to see Loki at the weaponry, a smirk on his lips as he tossed the throwing daggers from one hand to the other.

"What are you, a ninja?" said Clint.

Without a second of consideration, Loki flicked his wrist. The dagger slipped from his fingers and flew with remarkable speed toward the target, slicing through the bull's eye. He flashed a cheeky grin at Clint.

"Oh, is this a challenge?" Clint said, shouldering his favorite bow. "It's on. JARVIS, if you're functioning, bump up the level to impossible."

"_Right away, sir."_

The targets suddenly grew numerous, moving at intimidating speed around and toward them. Clint strung two arrows at once and shot them toward the dummies. One, two robots fell with immediately on impact.

"Your move, pretty boy," said Clint.

Loki hurled the daggers with such force that it cleanly cut through the first two dummies and stuck itself deeply into the third.

Clint aimed his arrow at the most violent dummies and shot; the arrow stuck through both of the dummies and like Siamese twins they fell together.

Loki wielded two blades in each hand, whipping them forth until they split off in independent directions and found their victim.

The robots were moving faster—much faster than Clint knew JARVIS was capable of, and as he stabbed one robot when it got too close with his arrow, he wondered if JARVIS was as fully functioning as he had originally assumed.

"If you ever wondered what it was like for us to fight your stupid army," yelled Clint as he aimed a kick to the stomach of one of the droids, "this is kind of like it!"

Loki kicked one of the robots so hard that it knocked its head against the wall and split open, wires and knobs spilling from its metal skull. Loki gaped at the machinery, never having actually seen a robot or its inner workings before. He leaned in closer, evidently drawn with curiosity at the sparking wires, as other dummies drew closer.

"Dude—Loki—all around you!" said Clint.

Loki looked up and immediately ducked as the dummies aimed for his head. He swiped his leg at them, knocking them off of their feet.

"JARVIS, you can tone it down a little!" said Clint.

JARVIS made no sign of understanding. Clint cursed loudly.

"JARVIS, end session! Come on!"

Something hard and round hit him against his back and he stumbled back. He turned around, only to see the head of one of the robots rolling around his ankle. He looked up, finding Loki standing over a decapitated robot that had aimed its paintball gun at Clint. Loki gave a cursory shrug.

"Once we get out of this mess, you are _so _fixing JARVIS," said Clint right before kicking down two robots. They retaliated with shooting pink paintballs at him, splattering his black vest.

Clint always suspected a robot apocalypse would be possible, but he never expected to happen now.

Loki, however, only understood the meaning of a bullet and never a paintball, and promptly looked positively murderous at the sight of the bubble-gum colored wounds on Clint's chest.

"I'm not hurt, I'm not hurt!" said Clint when Loki hurried forward, his raised hand almost glowing with healing magic. "Stop that magic. It's just paint. Watch out behind you!"

Loki ducked just in time for the robots behind him to shoot Clint in the face.

"Okay—rule number one of teamwork," said Clint, wiping paint from his welted skin. Loki rose to his feet guiltily. "You don't _duck _unless everyone else is ducking."

The robots were flooding the room now, whether they were KIA or wading their way toward Loki and Clint, paintball rifles at the ready. Loki and Clint exchanged glances.

"JARVIS, are you there yet?" said Clint.

A bit of static was all he could hear. Clint turned back to Loki.

"Let's scram," said Clint.

Loki shrugged before the both of them immediately booked it to the door.

* * *

"Anyone care to explain why my basement is covered in pink paint and robot heads?" Tony said that night.

Loki and Clint were holding ice packs to the welts on their arms and face. Loki was bent over a computer screen, tirelessly recoding.

"Nope," said Clint. "No idea."


	24. Chapter 24

Natasha expected at least a week of notice before the three of them imparted to find the SHIELD, but Clint insisted that it had to be done as soon as possible, if not the very next day, and all plans of preparation were squelched in the time period of two hours.

The next day started early, nearly four in the morning, after a sleepless night for nearly all of them, though none cared to admit it. Loki had somehow learned about D-day breakfasts back in World War II from Steve and attempted to recreate it for the rest of the team as his surreptitious way of thanks. Somehow, there was something about 'insert bread slices in toaster and slide down the switch' that completely boggled the otherwise clever prince, and one fire extinguisher later they settled with cereal and no serious burns thanks to Pepper's intervention.

Arranging the matter was no smoother. The plan was shoddy at most, considering one third of the team couldn't exactly communicate and the others' inputs contrasted rather than contributed (Loki's original plan involved one fake rampaging bilgesnipe too many and the others scrapped it promptly), so in the end Steve took the reigns as his role of captain and pooled a tentative plan for Natasha, Clint, and Loki.

"Here we go," said Steve, flattening a map of the SHIELD headquarters on the table. The others crowded around him. "All typical entrances to SHIELD are heavily guarded. That means, metal detectors, face detectors, thumb prints and eye recognition, all that to keep away outsiders. Since we don't exactly want casualties, we're not taking people's eyes out."

All heads turned to Loki.

"These logs are checked regularly, so if Natasha and Clint enter that way, it'll be obvious," said Steve. "And while they're welcomed into the headquarters at any time, they'll definitely be suspected of taking the staff considering the situation of Loki living under the same roof as them. Which, quite honestly, is a logical suspicion because that's going to be the truth."

"What are we doing with our lives?" Clint said under his breath.

"That means you have to enter through a different way. Like a window, or a shipping garage," said Steve. "I'm thinking the delivery centers, where boxes of whatever SHIELD needs goes from the trucks they came from to those elevator shafts that takes them to the basement for checking, which is on the same level as the scepter, isn't it?"

"It is," said Natasha. "But shipments from anywhere will be just as checked as people coming in."

"Not unless you can take a bit of a detour somewhere between the shipping entrance to the place where people receive them," said Steve.

"Not sure if that'll work," said Clint. "X-ray and heat signatures on the elevator shaft. They'll detect it immediately."

"Depends," said Tony. "Hey Loki, did you fix JARVIS yet?"

Loki rolled his eyes and nodded.

"JARVIS will be taking care of that little hiccup for you," said Tony. "He'll disable them for the time in between."

"SHIELD's security will pick up on the intrusion immediately," said Natasha.

"Not unless I tinker around," said Tony. "It's like a picnic. You get a mosquito bite, you spray some bug spray all over yourself. But while you're doing that, you don't notice the squirrel stealing your sandwich. And after you deal with that, you got distracted from taking care of the wind flipping over your blanket."

"You're going to be able to keep a tab on all of that?" said Clint.

"Genius, remember?" said Tony. "Besides, you'll all have earpieces. Even you, Loki. And I'll be listening in outside of SHIELD."

"Whoa, wait—you're coming with us?" said Clint.

Tony shrugged. "I'll be on the way there. I'll be your getaway car, and that archetypal sidekick in the back of a suspicious van outside of the target spot with all the computers wired in. I'm not going to go in because—yeah. They wouldn't be too happy to see me, and I can't say I wouldn't let them take their anger out on me if they try."

"A suspicious van is not going to go well with SHIELD. You know how paranoid they are."

"Ugh, you really think I'll go into one of those things? No way; I'm going with the Lamborghini," said Tony.

Clint nearly choked. "The Lamborghini? How do you expect to have a low profile with that?"

Tony shrugged. "Acquaintance of mine said that it's a lot subtler."

"Rich bastard," said Clint.

"What about Loki?" said Natasha. "How's he getting in? Or is he going to stay with Tony?"

Loki poked her hard on the arm. She gave him an icy glare.

"No one ever said you had to get into the nitty-gritty of the mission," she said.

"I think you'll find Loki to be rather useful," Thor said. "Especially with disguises."

Loki rolled his eyes and Thor nudged him with his elbow.

"These heat signatures—do they measure body heat?" said Thor.

"That's it," said Steve.

"Do they have it at every entrance? Windows, even? At the doors?"

"Not the doors," said Natasha. "Nor the windows. Just where potentially suspicious imports come in."

Thor shared a glance with Loki. A small smirk tugged at Loki's lips.

"But your magic, Loki," said Thor.

Loki shook his head and showed off his free wrist. Tony never reapplied the cuff on his wrist, after all.

"Just don't overexert yourself, all right?" said Thor.

"Okay, what's going on?" said Bruce.

"Ah—well, you needn't worry about how Loki will enter the headquarters," said Thor. "He will meet you at the basement."

"Whoa, don't we get any details?" said Clint.

Loki's eyes twinkled teasingly.

"Okay, we make it to the basement. Or potentially between the basement and ground floor," said Natasha. "If we get out of the elevator fast enough, we can wheedle through the ventilation."

"And Loki can pull open a place for you to get out of," said Steve.

"Seriously, how are we sure he's not going to get caught?" said Clint.

"Worry about that later. Okay, let's get back on track," said Steve. "You guys end up on the basement, security is probably high, so you've got to be sneaky. Don't resort to violence."

"Kind of hard to resist that temptation," said Natasha.

"Come on, now. How is the room secured?" said Steve.

"Most likely body identification and a password, if not with voice recognition," said Natasha.

"And it's only Fury, Hill, Selvig, and this Vulk person that can get in?" said Steve.

"Correct."

Tony squinted and rubbed his chin. "Okay. If it's a thumbprint, we can get it easily. Some latex gloves and chemistry will do the trick. If it's an eye or something, however…"

Loki shrugged. Steve shot a warning look at him.

"We're not resorting to any violence," said Steve.

"He's only jesting, Captain," said Thor.

"Right," said Steve, his eyebrows furrowing. "We've got to find out now, if possible. Can JARVIS check the system?"

"JARVIS, hack into SHIELD's security system as underhandedly as you can and tell me about room B21," said Tony.

_"Coming along, sir."_

"God, how I missed a functioning butler," said Tony.

"Suppose, for instance, that it _is _voice recognition or something whose copy we can't outright steal," said Clint. "How will we deal with that?"

"Depends if JARVIS can disable the security," said Steve.

"SHIELD's technology isn't that weak," said Natasha. "Any tampering on that particular room will trigger a response almost immediately."

"The cameras," said Thor. "Briefly disable the cameras."

"What good would that do?" said Steve. "One, someone's obviously going to notice if the cameras are being tampered with if they shut off. Two, that doesn't fix the problem about getting in the room."

"I can mess with the cameras, no big deal," said Tony. "All you need is to manipulate the time signature and then have a playback of past hours or even minutes, if it's an empty room. But I don't see how you expect that will help you get into the secured room any better."

Thor stole a glance at Loki, who raised an eyebrow at him. With a brief shrug of the shoulder, Loki turned and fixed his eyes directly at Tony. In less than a blink, it was as if a shimmer passed through him and everyone cried out immediately.

"What the blinking _hell_?" Clint said, gaping at Loki—or at least, who they all thought was Loki. "What just freaking happened?"

Natasha rubbed her eyes—and then rubbed them again. Surely it was a mirage, if not a hallucination, though borderline nightmare. There was no possible way that there were two Tony Starks in the room, one of them standing exactly where Loki was just seconds ago. Unless a mirror magically popped out of nowhere, it couldn't be possible.

Tony, on the other hand, looked mildly pleased.

"Damn, I knew I was good-looking," said Tony. "But where did Loki go?"

Tony's doppelganger waved its hand. Tony gaped, leaning a little closer to his own face.

"Wait—Loki? You're Loki? I mean—I'm Loki?"

Loki—or Tony—shoved Tony on the chest. Everything about him was the perfect carbon copy of Tony—the dark eyes, the signature stubble, even the cocky straightening of the shoulders. It was more than as if Tony had a twin brother—Loki was Tony through and through.

"Loki is a master at shape-shifting," said Thor with an unmistakably proud smile.

"Why the hell is everyone a shape-shifter nowadays?" said Clint.

Tony was too tongue-tied admiring himself—or Loki—to say anything coherently. He rapped his knuckle against Loki's chest—the metal ting of a magicked arc reactor was muffled underneath Loki's shirt.

"Holy hell," said Tony. "You can do all this? Damn. When we said Loki wasn't trying to lie low back in Stuttgart, he _really _wasn't trying to lie low in Stuttgart."

"Why didn't you do that while we were in Stuttgart?" said Clint to Loki. "Instead of gouging some poor bastard's eye out."

Loki's jaw twitched, but whatever thoughts or confessions went through his mind did not shine as clearly through Tony's dark eyes as they did with his own.

"So if Loki shape-shifted into someone else's body—say, someone who has access into the room, he'd have their identifying prints to get in?" said Steve.

"He must see them, first," said Thor. "You cannot command him to shape-shift into a creature if he has no idea what it looks like."

"Fair enough," said Tony—the real Tony. "Well, he at least knows how Fury looks like, or Selvig. Maybe not so much Hill or Vulk, though."

"Don't go for Fury or Selvig," said Natasha. "Fury being such a high-ranking agent would make it too risky."

"And Selvig's in New Mexico right now," said Clint. "He's not due to be back for another two weeks. If someone runs into him, they'll know something was up."

"So that leaves Hill or Vulk," said Bruce. "Do you remember how Agent Hill looks like, Loki? You know, dark hair, blue eyes, a woman who's always at Fury's side…"

Loki shook his head.

"JARVIS, pull up a picture of Agent Maria Hill for us, won't you?" said Tony.

"_Yes, sir._"

In less than a second, a holographic screen appeared on the blank wall in front of them. Agent Hill's identification photos from SHIELD flickered before them. Loki furrowed his eyebrows (or more accurately, Tony's eyebrows) at the sight of her before closing his eyes. Tony's façade washed away immediately like waves smoothing out marked sand on the shore, and immediately a perfect replica of Agent Hill stood before them.

Tony gave a low whistle. "You can be a man _and _a woman? Have you ever taken advantage of that?"

Loki kicked Tony in the back of the knee.

"JARVIS, check Loki's thumbprints and see if they match Agent Hill's," said Bruce.

A red glowing screen opened up before the wall. Hesitantly, Loki placed a thumb against the plastic. JARVIS scanned the thumbprint, a copy of it appearing on the screen.

"_It appears to have a match, Mr. Banner._"

"Excellent," said Bruce. "This is beyond useful."

"Wait," said Clint. "So if this is shape-shifting, then does that mean that the Chitauri can do the same thing?"

"More or less," said Thor. "Quite honestly, Loki's prowess is much more advanced than that of the Chitauri, if I do say so myself."

"Either way, that's a freaky thought," said Clint. "They can be anywhere right now—anywhere. And we'd probably never know it."

"Let's focus on one scary thought at a time," said Tony. "I don't think Loki should enter the headquarters like this, especially if Hill already checked in and is walking around. But once you're in and in the basement…"

"What are the chances that we'll run into her when he looks like this?" said Clint.

"Not if we can help it," said Natasha. "Could we get rid of Hill now, please? I'd rather have normal Loki back."

A brief smile showed on Loki's lips before the countenance morphed from Agent Hill to the all familiar god of mischief. His face was grayer from the magical exertion and he swayed on his feet, but he kept himself upright nonetheless. Natasha's lips tightened.

"Let's avoid using it for as long as possible," said Natasha. "If shape-shifting is just as grueling as healing, I don't know if we can be lucky the second time."

"All right, so we get the staff, assuming there isn't more security checks in the way," said Clint. "Chances are they'll eventually notice the staff missing."

"Loki's good at projections. He can shape a new one and no one would notice the difference," said Tony.

"All this magical exertion will be detrimental," said Thor, his face somber.

"Maybe Loki could put on the arc reactor the moment he gets a hand on the scepter," said Clint.

"I don't want to risk that," said Bruce. "We aren't entirely sure if the scepter is the answer to our problems. Better do it, you know, not in SHIELD."

"How are they going to get out?" said Tony.

"We could take up the ventilation system again," said Steve. "If not, then lay low and Tony can mess with JARVIS to clear up the space."

"Impromptu fire drill. It can work," said Tony.

"And if because of a really unfortunate stroke of bad luck, Loki gets possessed by Thanos in the middle of SHIELD…" said Clint.

"We're trying to improve morale here," said Tony. "And if anything, just use the scepter to bash his head in and drag him back. No offense, Loki."

"But that's not the ideal situation," said Bruce. "Just…be careful with the scepter, though. Who knows if SHIELD's studies of it tampered with it or something? Or it still has its effects?"

"What do you mean?" said Steve.

"It's just…" Bruce said, rubbing the back of his head. "I just remember that one time we were all in the helicarrier, and I was getting extremely worked up over the situation, and without even realizing it I grabbed the scepter. I don't have any logical reason why I would consciously do it, so I just wonder if—well—the scepter's influence had anything to do with it."

"Is that the truth?" said Thor. He turned to Loki. "Does the scepter have that sort of power?"

Loki's eyebrows knitted together, but he gave no visible answer.

"We'll just need it long enough to get an idea of how I can replicate it," said Tony. "After that, we'll put it under lock and key if we really have to."

"Do you think SHIELD will have records of their studies somewhere where JARVIS can hack into them?" said Bruce.

"No chance," said Tony. "Don't you think I've already tried?"

"Point taken. Tony, you'll keep an eye on them and wherever they exit, pick them up and get them the hell out of there before anyone catches on. You have the earpieces for them?"

"Hell yeah." Tony pulled out a small metal box and pried it open. Inside were several flesh-colored buds nestled in the black foam. He scooped them out and handed them to each one of them. Natasha inserted the bud into her ear and helped Loki with his after he stared blankly at it in his palm for a good half a minute. "These things are intense. They'll pick up what you say even if you barely breathe out the words, and they can't be interrupted by outside radio waves. Whatever you hear, I hear. Whatever you say, I hear. Whatever I say, you better believe that you can hear it."

"Are you sure we shouldn't have another day of clearing up the plan?" said Natasha.

"No amount of preparation's going to make this job any easier, honestly," said Bruce. "Waiting for an opportune moment is just another way of losing what we've got."

Natasha cast a glance at Loki, wondering about his thoughts on the situation. There was hard determination in those eyes, and she couldn't help but grudgingly reason with herself that she should have expected it from the stubborn prince.

"Are you sure that I cannot aid you in any way?" said Thor.

"Sorry, Point Break," said Tony, fastening a headset over his ears. "You're more than conspicuous, and I'm not going to lie, but the less people we have involved in this the better. Don't worry. I'll be everyone's binoculars and earphones. People don't trust me, but that doesn't mean I won't do a good job."

"We trust you, Stark," said Natasha. "Or, we trust you as much as we ought to trust a playboy."

"Har har," said Stark. "The Lamborghini's set and ready to roll. Are you guys?"

Loki and Clint nodded. Tony turned his gaze to Natasha.

"You?" he said.

"Oh," she said. She cast a second glance at Loki and Clint. It was not that she had never been on dangerous mission with people she cared for before. God knows how many missions she and Clint nearly lost their lives in, or how many times she and the Avengers faced a terrible threat that could have easily ended them all. "Yeah. I'm ready."

"Clench up," said Tony.

The car ride to downtown was silent and still. Loki was constantly trying to adjust the earpiece, the foreign object in his ear bothering him. Tony was unusually less talkative than usual, and Clint wouldn't stop rubbing his shoulders. He didn't bring his bow and arrows in case the weapon would draw too much attention and Natasha could only imagine how naked he felt without them.

Natasha, on the other hand, felt a gnawing pit in her stomach. This was certainly not an unprecedented mission, nor was it a highly dangerous one, but never had she been set on a path of virtually betraying the very agency that had taken her in after nearly killing her. Loyalty was never anything she downright considered herself guilty of, but even a dog that lashed out on its owner mulled on its second thoughts with its tail between its legs later.

_What does it matter to you? _her conscience chided. _It isn't as if you've never betrayed anyone before, anyway._

She gripped her hands into fists.

This is different, she said. This is for the greater good. Earth could be doomed if they didn't try this—if _she _didn't try this. SHIELD may eventually find out, but if they know the whole truth, they'll understand. She _had _to do this.

She guiltily stole a sidelong glance at Loki in the seat next to her. Loki felt her gaze and gave her a small nod of reassurance.

_Don't be afraid, _said his eyes. _You'll be all right._

But she wasn't afraid for herself.

"Five miles away from the headquarters," said Tony. "I'm going to drop you off two miles away and then I'm going to circle around the blocks nearby as to not draw attention."

"I think you already failed on that part," said Clint. Outside their tinted windows, several teenagers gawked lustily at the blood-red sports car.

"Never listening to that damn playboy billionaire again," said Tony. "Everyone ready? Okay, testing the earphones. Testing, testing."

Natasha could hear Tony's voice blare in her right ear. She winced and shot a glare at Tony through the rearview mirrors.

"JARVIS, lower the volume just a tad. Now whisper something so I can make sure this thing works fine."

"Testing," said Natasha, her lips barely moving. Tony nodded and flashed a thumbs up.

"Good. Okay, two and a half miles away. Loki, whatever voodoo you're going to pull to sneak into the headquarters, I suggest you do that soon."

"Are you going to drop him off the same time you're dropping us off?" said Natasha.

"Depends. Loki, are you going as a human?" said Tony.

Loki shook his head.

"Then I guess it won't hurt," said Tony. "Two miles and a quarter. Get yourselves ready."

Natasha felt for the only weapon she was allowed—a taser. Steve made them promise not to try harming any of the agents, and she couldn't help but feel fractious that he expected her to hurt her colleagues. Clint turned around in the passenger seat and gave her a nod.

"Two miles flat. Get your asses out of here."

Immediately Loki disappeared from his seat, a mockingbird replacing his body on the black leather. The doors of the Lamborghini opened and the small bird took off immediately, dodging lampposts and taxis. Natasha climbed out after him, keeping her head low to avoid attention.

"A mockingbird? Really?" muttered Clint as he stepped out of the car. The doors slammed shut immediately after them and Tony took off, melding into the traffic. "He couldn't have gone with something more inconspicuous like a pigeon."

"Who would want to be a pigeon?" said Natasha. "Imagine the possibilities: Pigeon-Eye."

"Not the same case," said Clint.

"Stop bickering and get yourselves down an elevator chute," Tony's voice crackled in their ears. "JARVIS, pull up all security cameras of SHIELD and set the tracking device on."

"Tracking device?" said Natasha.

"On your earpieces. So I know where you guys are in case the security cameras don't help. And I see that you guys haven't even started moving yet. Don't let the little bird beat you."

"Caw, caw," said Clint. He and Natasha began walking, dodging the pedestrians as they made their way toward SHIELD headquarters. "Do you still have a track on Loki if he's a bird?"

"All things that Loki has on his body comes with him in his form," said Tony. "Why else do you think he doesn't walk around buck naked after changing back?"

Natasha snorted. "Great mental image, Tony."

"Oh please. I bet you enjoy that thought immensely."

"Whoa, hey, can we please get back to business?" said Clint.

Natasha quickened her pace, the back of her neck burning. She could only imagine Loki's reaction, considering he was probably able to listen to every word they said right now.

"Get to the back of the headquarters, facing west," said Tony. "I see a truck of shipments waiting in the garage. They haven't started loading their boxes into the shafts, but you might want to get in before or after they do."

"On it," said Natasha. "Let's hurry up."

She and Clint slunk from the main road and squeezed into the spaces between the buildings, dodging the alleys of metal trash bins and parked vehicles. She could hear the roaring of the truck's engine echoing in the large garage and she pressed herself against the building, edging closer to the opened entrance. Clint just barely let himself look around the corner, his sharp eyes noting everything.

"Stark, we're close by," he said. "How long do you think you can disable the head signatures and everything within the elevator chute?"

"If SHIELD updated their systems since the last time I hacked into Coulson's files, I'm going to estimate about ten minutes tops," said Tony. "If they didn't, then you get yourselves some extra leeway. Have you got a clear idea of how to get yourselves in there?"

Natasha craned her neck to see around the corner. The uniformed men were checking the boxes off, toting clipboards and scanners. Once the cardboard boxes and crates were deemed acceptable, they were wheeled to the square opening in the back of the room where they were hefted into a dumbwaiter and sent downward.

"If we could have a distraction of sorts, we can get down from on top of the elevator," said Natasha. "They'll open up into the entire system midway there, like an actual elevator system, and we can get out through there and find a vent."

"Distraction, distraction…okay, got it. Stand clear."

Natasha withdrew from the corner and leaned against the wall. In less than five seconds, a low voice came through the overhead speakers.

"Agents," said the robotic and all too familiar British voice. "Please exit the grounds and make your way to the main lobby. The garage will now be off limits in preparation for an upcoming event. Please exit the grounds and make your way to the main lobby. Thank you."

The people at the garage exchanged puzzled glances but asked no questions. They pushed the carts and boxes to the side and filed out of the garage. Natasha and Clint sank into the shadows of the corner before they could be seen, and just before the garage doors closed they slipped inside the darkening room. The heavy metal door sank shut the moment they tumbled in, locking them in complete darkness with only their footsteps echoing against the cement.

"I had to disable the lights of the garage," said Tony. "Can't have JARVIS be too obvious just yet. Can you get yourselves to the elevator?"

"Yes. Disable the securities for it," said Natasha. She felt around for Clint and her fingers met his sleeve. Gripping it tightly, she tugged him toward the back of the room, grazing her fingers across the wall to feel for the opening. "And turn on the elevator. We have to go on top of it, not in it."

Immediately, the pulleys groaned inside the wall. She could feel the elevator box slowly move downward; the moment it sank low enough she and Clint climbed on top of it, sinking deeper into the darkness as the wall closed up above their heads. The air felt frigid under the ground, and when she gripped the long poles she found them slick and black with oil. She squinted, trying to find Clint's face in the darkness.

"Do you see the ventilation system anywhere?" said Clint.

"Not yet. Dammit, we should have brought some sort of flashlight," said Natasha.

The narrow way soon opened to a massive jungle of pulleys and poles, dragging up dumbwaiter systems and mechanics that functioned underneath SHIELD's headquarter. Just beyond their reach Natasha could see the opening of a ventilation system within the wall and her heart jumped.

"There—over there, Clint." She pointed, only to remember that the elevator was taking them lower. "Stark, stop the elevator, won't you?"

"Say please," said Tony. Before Natasha could curse at him, the elevator jerked underneath them and came to a halt. Natasha gritted her teeth; even from here the jump would be impossible.

"Let me give you a boost," said Clint.

"How are you going to get up?" said Natasha.

Clint shrugged. "Climb? This is definitely not the hardest obstacle I've had."

"Fair enough."

Clint knelt on the edge of the elevator box, cupping his hands. Natasha took a deep breath before running forward and stepping into his hands. He pushed her up and she immediately caught on the edge of the opening of the vents, her fingers nearly slipping on the metal and from the oil still on her fingers; she quickly pushed herself up and her torso into the vent before she could slip off.

"You okay?" said Clint.

"Got it." She pulled the rest of her body inside, sidling deeper down the tunnel. The air conditioning made goose bumps run down her skin underneath her leather sleeves. "Stark, how are we doing?"

"Not as fast as I hoped, but that's okay," said Tony. "Loki's at the headquarters already. He's inside."

"As a mockingbird?" said Natasha.

"Not that I know of. I'm looking at the security cameras and I don't see any birds. He probably changed forms."

Natasha groaned. "Loki, if you can hear me, conserve your magic. If you pass out somewhere in the middle of SHIELD, we're screwed."

Clint jumped and caught the edge of the vent, pulling himself up behind her. "Okay, Stark, where exactly are we in the basement?"

"West side, still," said Stark. "The room is in the south side and—whoa, wait."

Natasha held her breath at Tony's sudden change in topic.

"Loki, what are you doing?" said Tony.

Her heart jumped. "What's going on?" she said.

"Just a minute, disabling and erasing SHIELD's security camera tapes," said Tony. "Okay, good. Tapes are rerun, they haven't seen a thing."

"What happened?" said Natasha.

"Loki's magic flickered or something. He changed back out of his disguise in the middle of an empty hallway."

"Where?"

"Ground floor, east wing. I still have access to what the security cameras can see. Loki, dude, you okay? Thumbs up if you are, thumbs down if you aren't."

A beat. Then— "I'm going to take that as an 'I could be better.'"

"Does he need help?" said Natasha.

"I think we ought to get out of the vents before anything else," said Clint behind her.

"Loki, do you need—? Oh, he's giving me a major thumbs down now," said Tony.

"Loki doesn't even know how to get around, especially if he's in his own form," said Natasha. "Someone might walk in on him."

"Nat, you can't go to him now," said Clint. "Two people are easier to walk in on than one."

"Same for our case, isn't it?" said Natasha.

"Loki's giving an extremely dramatic thumbs down," said Tony. "He's walking now. Baby steps, Bambi. Baby steps."

"We need to meet up with him somewhere," said Clint, "so he can become Hill and get us in that room."

"He doesn't even know the layout of this place, does he?" said Natasha.

"Oh, he looks offended," said Tony.

"Well, even a person with photographic memory of a map can get a little sidetracked," said Natasha.

"Natasha, Clint, get moving."

Natasha army crawled through the metal wormhole, the cold air rushing past her skin and making her shiver. She tried to slide as silently as possible in case someone could hear them through the walls. She wondered if Loki was right above them and she moved faster.

"I guess this is how the basilisk felt in book two," said Clint behind her.

"You really are a fan of those books, aren't you?" said Natasha.

"Whoa, whoa, Loki, mayday," said Tony. "A line of agents coming in around the corner."

"Shit," said Natasha, putting her hand to her earpiece. "Stark, unlock a hiding place for him."

"What am I to you, a funhouse? The doors in this hallway are old-fashioned. Lock and key, baby."

"Well, do something!"

"Natasha, you mind moving and talking at the same time?" said Clint.

Natasha didn't notice that she had stopped crawling and immediately picked up her pace. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Let's just—let's get to that scepter."

"Loki, don't think about it, don't use—oh. Wow. I can't believe I didn't think of that," said Tony's voice.

"God, Stark, do you have to commentate on everything?" said Natasha. Her elbows were cramping from the constant crawling.

"He just went through an open door and stayed in the room as the people passed. Wow. This job is no longer necessary."

"Stark, focus," said Natasha. "We still need to get him down here."

"Damn, the elevators are full of people constantly, and the stairs have people around as well. Maybe we can squeeze him into a vent."

"Oh yeah, join the party," said Clint with a grunt. "I swear, if he magicks himself into air and comes in here…"

"I got it," said Tony. "Clint, get out of the vent now. No one's in the west wing, though there are people in the north. What you need to do is clear a pathway for you guys to get through once you've got the scepter. My first assumption would be the vents, but that might be a little difficult for three grown people and a magic stick to get through."

"How do we do it, then?" said Clint.

"That's for you to figure out. Loki, once you get out of the room, I'm going to be leading you to the stairs—no, stop giving me that face, I _know _you think you know how to get anywhere, but unlike you, I know which places are clear and which places have people in them."

"What about me?" said Natasha.

"Keep yourself far and away from people. Don't want to risk you getting blamed for what you technically did do. I'm going to need you to find something long and pointy."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Loki's magic needs as much rest as it can get—stop making that _face_, Loki. It'll be easier for him to disguise something to look like his scepter than to make one out of thin air."

"Long and pointy. Got it," said Natasha, though she couldn't help but feel like she was given a filler role in the grand scheme of things.

"Oh, and make sure to keep a perimeter around room B21 or wherever that scepter is. Make sure no one is in there or around there. If there are, distract them. But don't let them know you're there."

"Thanks for the specificity, Stark."

"So we have to split up?" said Clint.

"Can you get out of a vent?" said Tony.

"Yeah, I can get out of a vent," said Clint. "Gotta love how we're not even halfway through the plan and something's already been messed up."

"Since when do our plans never mess up?" said Natasha.

Clint took a different vent pathway from Natasha after bidding her good luck, the echoes of his body crawling through the metal tunnels echoing until they were too far to hear each other anymore. Natasha crawled onward, listening to Tony give directions to Loki on which path to take, still mulling over the fact that she was sent off to find something 'long and pointy' like a dog playing fetch. Once she found pinpricks of light in the dark vent, she kicked open the grating and slid out of the vent, landing soundlessly on the tiled floor.

"Long and pointy, long and pointy…"

It was hardly a challenge, settling for a construction lab where a metal yardstick was readily available. She filched it and surveyed the area for any obstacles or disturbances. The hallways were sterile—no one lurked long in the basement.

"Now take the hallway to the left," said Tony through the headsets. Natasha wished there was a way to mute his voice so he wouldn't continue interrupting her thoughts. "Keep going, keep going—no wait, don't. Field trip of trainees coming your way. Take the forked path to the right. That's good."

"I got the stick, Stark," said Natasha. "Clint, how's it going for you?"

There was a grunt for a response.

"Oh, crap, code red," said Tony. "That Winston asshole is coming your direction. Backtrack, Loki."

"Winston?" said Clint. "That stick in the mud?"

"I was under the impression that all people in SHIELD were sticks in the mud," said Tony. "Hurry, Loki, he's walking fast—oh God, no, stop, stop!"

Natasha clenched her teeth, half considering taking out her earphone. How was Tony expecting her to get anything done if she had to listen to him narrate Loki's predicament and let her imagination come up with the worse possible scenario for her?

"Three agents are coming from the other direction. Don't keep moving, Loki, I'll think of a distr—dammit, not again!"

"Stark, can you please stop that?" said Natasha. "You're distracting the both of us."

"Loki, you little shit, I said I was the one who would make the distraction!" said Tony. "You can't keep using your magic like that."

"Any way I can be of service?" said Natasha.

"Give me a minute, let me—"

Whatever Tony wanted to say was cut off by the blaring public announcement system that made her nearly jump out of her skin. She immediately pressed herself against the wall, arms held aloft to strike out of instinct.

"Emergency—this is a code silver," said the echoing voice. "Everybody, please remain calm and make your way to the main lobby and wait for your commanding officer. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Please remain calm and make your way to the main lobby and wait for your commanding officer."

High-pitched sirens screeched from the ceiling, making Natasha wince. Doors were opening and she had barely enough time to dive into a custodian closet before people could file out of the rooms and head toward the stairs. Even in the dingy and dim closet, the alarms were deafening.

"That wasn't me," said Tony. "I didn't do it. That wasn't me."

"Was it Clint? Loki?" said Natasha.

"I didn't do shit," said Clint.

"Loki?" said Tony. "He's shaking his head."

"What's the emergency, can you tell?" said Natasha.

"I can't. I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Empty hallway, empty hallway, crowded hallway, crowded room…Loki, this is your chance. The coast is clear—now book it."

"Which stairway is he coming down from?" said Natasha. "I'll meet with him."

"Stairway 6B, now get to it. Clint, where are you?"

"Can't you see me?" said Clint.

"I can see you from the tracking device, but not through the security cameras. You're southwest, aren't you?"

"I think? I don't kno—shit, just a minute."

"What's wrong?" said Natasha. Clint didn't answer and she cursed this form of communication. The suspense would literally kill all of them if they kept stopping short like this.

"Tony, where's Clint?" Natasha said, quickening her pace.

"I told you, I can't see him."

"You have a tracking device on him!"

"He's somewhere on the southwest wing, but he's not showing up through the security cameras. Barton, stop hiding from the cameras. You're freaking me out."

Natasha bit her lip, expecting Clint to give some snippy response, but there was nothing. She halted in her steps, half considering running back and finding Clint to put her nerves to rest, but then there was the problem of Loki wandering around the top floor, alone. How was she supposed to alleviate one of her stresses just so she could raise the tension of the other?

Finally, Clint spoke up again, his voice barely heard as he murmured into the earpiece. Her heart jumped with relief at the sound of him.

"Guys," said Clint. "Guys, I've been spotted."

"Are you serious?" said Tony. "You had _one job_, Barton."

"It's Vulk," Clint said. He spoke quickly, strained with time. "Don't come here."

"Clint, don't leave her sight," said Natasha.

"What?" Tony said.

"We're only afraid that he'll be accused of stealing the scepter should they find out it's gone," said Natasha. "If he's got an eyewitness—Vulk—to tell everyone that Clint was with her all the time and he has an alibi, he has no reason to be accused. You copy, Clint?"

"Agent Barton, of the spy division," said Clint.

Natasha paused. "What?"

"I was only hear to find some magical restraints for our—you know," said Clint, as if he never heard Natasha. "Stark requested them from me."

"Natasha, he's talking to that Vulk person," said Tony. "I'm toning out Clint's conversation so only I hear it."

"Got it," said Natasha. "Loki, are you at stairs 6B yet?"

The alarm was still ringing and Natasha swallowed down the urge to aim a punch at the blinking red bulb on the wall.

"Guys, we might have a bit of a problem," said Tony.

Natasha groaned. "How much more?"

"I can't stay close to the headquarters anymore. Some trucks are pulling in and their surrounding the area."

"Trucks? What trucks?"

"Police? Ambulance? I can't tell the difference between the two. I've got to scram for a mile or two."

"How are we supposed to run around New York City with a stupid glowing rod in our hands?"

"Dammit, I don't know. Just hurry. Something's happening and it's not a good sign. Whatever that alarm was for, it wasn't because of us, and it's definitely not a drill."

"You copy, everyone?" said Natasha, only to remember that the other two members of the conversation could not talk. She cursed and sprinted toward Stairs 6B. She shoved open the heavy metal doors, her footsteps clacking hollowly against the cement. The dim lights maid the stairs and walls look sticky with amber residue, and they did nothing to reveal Loki.

"Loki, where are you?" said Natasha.

No sound of descending footsteps.

"Stark, where's Loki?"

No answer. Natasha suddenly felt very alone. She hitched her breath and bounded up the stairs, gripping the metal meter stick defensively.

"Loki, you need to walk faster or something, because I'm at floor 6B and we can't stop and smell the roses at a time like this," she said.

She reached the top of the stairs without running into another sign of life and now her heart was racing. For all she knew, Loki could have been apprehended and was too mute to scream. Clint could have been brought to the authorities by Vulk and arrested under SHIELD. Tony could have crashed his Lamborghini.

Natasha was never one to panic, but that never meant she never worried.

"Guys," said Tony.

"Where the hell were you?" said Natasha.

"I'm tracking the heat signatures of people in the headquarters. Clint, you've got five other blobs of heat around you; probably security making sure everyone's getting out. Just stick with that Vulk woman and you shouldn't get in trouble. Grunt if you copy."

Natasha closed her eyes, waiting to hear Clint's affirmation, only to remember that only Tony could hear any noise from Clint's side.

"Shoot," said Tony. "Natasha, are you on ground floor?"

"I am now," said Natasha, pressed against the door of the staircase.

"Something's wrong. There's a huge blob of nothingness coming your way, and it's picking up speed."

"A blob of nothingness? What the hell?"

"It has no heat signature. Like, absolutely none. But it's definitely alive and coming your way, and it sure as hell isn't a gust of breeze."

Natasha swallowed and slid to the wall, holding the meter stick aloft. "What can it be?"

"Chitauri spy, maybe? I don't know their biological makeup. I can't see it in the cameras—it's got to be something out of this world."

She thought she could hear footsteps drawing closer. She braced herself and held up the meter stick.

"Let it come, then," she said.

She was not unused to Chitauri attacks, but to be the one cornered in the dark, to be the one waiting for the attack—

"Wait, wait," Tony said, his voice hasty. "Shit, wait, don't—"

The door swung open and immediately Natasha bounded forward, arms raised to thrust the meter stick into the body. It was only when she caught sight of the familiar pair of green eyes did she yelp and drop the stick, crashing into the figure until they tumbled down the flight of stairs, tangled in each other's limbs. They slammed against the wall, body bruised and aching from the stone descent, heads spinning mercilessly.

"Loki, I so did not mean that," Tony's voice said sheepishly.

Loki pulled himself off of Natasha, clutching his bruised head. The look on his face was the farthest thing away from amused. Natasha pushed herself off the ground, her elbows and back protesting, casting a guilty glance at Loki.

"Heh. Right. Frost Giants usually don't have a heat signature, do they?" said Tony. "Should have uh, remembered that and stuff."

"You okay?" Natasha said to Loki. Loki's eyebrow twitched in irritation and he brushed her concern off. He picked up the meter stick that had fallen with them and held it out to Natasha, as if to ask, _what the hell would you have done with _this _thing?_

The realization that she was so close to stabbing Loki in the chest made Natasha's stomach churn as she took the meter stick back.

"So, uh…yeah. No Chitauri after all," said Tony. "I really need to check out the problem with these security cameras. No offense, Loki."

Loki's lower jaw twitched but his face remained emotionless otherwise.

"We've got to get moving," said Natasha. "Clint's been apprehended—whether antagonistically or not, I don't know. But we should get the job done fast."

Loki gave Natasha a look that clearly said _I _hear_ everything _you hear_. _

"Right," Natasha said, rubbing the back of her head. "And—sorry. For trying to stab you."

Loki's smile was ironic as he gathered himself onto his feet and pulled Natasha up off the ground. They hurried down the rest of the stairs, their footsteps a stampede in the silence.

"Barton's moving back toward the west wing, guys," said Tony. "Don't go there, lest you guys get spotted."

"What happens to our exit plan?" said Natasha.

"Wing it. You're good at that," said Tony. "I need to see if I can—"

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Oh, wow," said Tony.

"What is it?" Natasha said, nearly screaming in frustration. She was supposed to be the one who knew all the cards in the deck, the one in the middle of the web and could see and control everything around her. Not the dramatic audience that would be the last to know what would happen at the climax.

"I've been duped this whole time," said Tony.

"Duped? You?" said Natasha.

"I thought I was tricking SHIELD into accessing their security cameras and rolling over their own old ones," said Tony. "But someone had beaten me to it in certain cameras. That's why I can't find see Clint—the security videos of the south and west wing that I've been watching this whole time were the ones from five hours ago."

"What? Why?" said Natasha. "Who would do that?"

"Okay—let me fix all of these, all right?" said Tony. "I need to go through each of these and make sure they are correct…fix SHIELD's faulty security system for them…"

Natasha looked quickly at Loki. His face was drawn with thought and she felt her mouth go dry.

"What if they expected us?" said Natasha. "And they're several steps ahead of us?"

"Someone's ahead of us, but it's not SHIELD," said Tony. "SHIELD wouldn't play this way. They're a bit more obvious than this. Guys, you better get moving."

Natasha gave Loki a short nod before taking his hand and running forward. She could feel his hand tense up in hers but she gave it no thought. Time was of the essence and everything felt completely out of their control; she needed at least one thing in her hand she was certain of.

"Is Clint still at the south side?" said Natasha. "Is it safe to get to the room?"

"Clint, are you at the south side? Hum if yes, don't if no," said Tony. A pause. "I think you guys can get through."

Natasha led Loki through the empty, white hallways, each corner a potential snare trap that could topple the entire plan. She strained her ears for any sign of Clint echoing in the linoleum maze, but all that filled her ears was the clacking of their feet.

"Oh my God," said Tony, his voice fraught.

"What's wrong?" said Natasha.

"Everyone's crowded in the lobby. Everyone's armed," said Tony.

Natasha nearly choked. "Okay. Okay, we won't go through the lobby."

"No—listen—I just accessed the camera of a storage room on the second floor, north wing. It had been tampered with. Guys—there's blood everywhere. Blood, the paramedics, and a body bag."

Natasha halted in her running immediately, forcing Loki to crash into her back. She pressed her palm against her ear as if forcing the earphone closer to her brain would help her comprehend Tony's words.

"Stark, what's happening? Tell us everything," said Natasha.

"Trying," said Tony. "Caution tape everywhere, blood—there's Fury, and he's angry. He's talking with Hill and Winston—they're there too. I can't access what they're saying; these cameras don't have speakers. They're trying to look into security tapes but they can't. They're erased permanently by someone else. I can't get to them either."

"Someone's dead?" said Natasha, a shiver running down her back.

"They've been effing slaughtered," said Tony. "Chunks of hair, I think even flesh are on the ground. I—oh my God, they were _tortured._"

"Who would do that?" said Natasha, her voice dropping. SHIELD would never do anything of the like to their agents, or anyone. Their own headquarters was far from an ideal place for a murderer to enact and hide their crime. Loki—

No. Natasha knew it would never be Loki. Not like this, not anymore. She didn't notice that she was gripping Loki's hand even tighter now, and Loki's fingers did not protest.

"Loki, do you trust me?" said Natasha.

Loki turned to her quizzically, taken aback by her sudden question. She did not let her gaze on him waver and he consented to give a nod.

"Okay," she said, suddenly feeling very lightheaded at the gravity of the situation. "Stark? You've got to give SHIELD back their access to the cameras. All of them. As much as you can."

"What? What about you guys?" said Tony. "The moment they see Loki running around, they're giving themselves a culprit."

"But whoever did this might still be in SHIELD," said Natasha. "They need protection, they need preparation. We can't keep it from them like this. Loki—he can make himself disappear with his magic. We'll find another way into the room if we can't have him take on Hill's appearance. They won't see him."

She stole a glance at Loki, wondering if he was affronted, or even hurt. He only gave her a determined bow of the head.

"You asked for it," said Tony. "Going live in five, four, three—"

She watched Loki closely, as if to take in his sight before he disappeared in thin air.

"—two, one."

Immediately Loki vanished from the spot, shielded from all eyes. She could still feel his invisible fingers in her palm and she gave them a grateful squeeze.

"Better think of Plan B for that secured room fast," said Tony.

"Maybe Clint can find a way to get Vulk to let us in," said Natasha. "Can you see him yet?"

"Clint? No. Hey, watch out for the south wing, all right?"

"What? I thought you were breaking into all the security cameras."

"I am, but that doesn't mean I was successful with all of them yet. I can't find him."

"Shit." Natasha's strides were nearly doubling in speed. Even with his long legs Loki had to work to catch up. "Wait, what's Clint doing with Vulk?"

"Were you not paying attention to my one-sided conversation?"

"No, that's not my point," said Natasha. "You said everyone's gathered up in the lobby and armed, and there's a murder scene on floor two. Why wouldn't Vulk be up there with them?"

Tony didn't answer. Natasha felt her grip mold into the meter stick in her hands as if it was a sword that fit perfectly against her palm. The rumor that she could turn anything she could get her hands on into a weapon was not far off.

"I'm almost near the room, Stark," said Natasha. They were approaching the south wing, as empty as everywhere else. She could only hear her own footsteps against the floor; if it weren't for Loki's hand in hers, she would have been convinced she was alone.

"What the hell are you doing?" said Tony. "Didn't I tell you to watch out for the south wing?"

"Why do I need to?" said Natasha. "There's no one there."

"What do you mean there's no one there, don't you remember what I said about the heat signatures?" said Tony.

"Not exactly, I was accidentally trying to impale Loki," said Natasha.

A beat. And then—"Natasha…you're saying you don't see anything?"

"I see nothing," said Natasha. "It's just Loki and me."

"Get out of there," said Tony. Natasha had never heard him speak so frantically. "You've got to get out of there, now."

* * *

Clint found several sizeable ventilation entrances, an out of order elevator, and a crack in the wall in the time that he was alone in the basement—all relatively possible mechanisms for escape. Though, he reasoned grimly, if Loki was armed with a magical staff that had the potential to level New York City, then certainly he had the power to perform some sort of spell to make the escapade much less complicated.

He paused in his walking, the hallway still ringing with the sound of his footsteps. He had thought he heard someone walking by, but perhaps that was only the sound of his footsteps rebounding off the smooth floor and walls and echoing faintly after him. He furrowed his eyebrows before walking again, keeping his eyes strained to catch unfamiliar reflections against the linoleum tiles.

"Oh, crap, code red." Tony's voice was like an irritating itch in between his shoulder blades that he was more than willing to beat the hell out of with a baseball bat to get rid of. Clint twisted the ear bud, trying to find a way to lower the volume but to no avail. "That Winston asshole is coming your direction. Backtrack, Loki."

"Winston?" said Clint. The captain that took Fury's orders almost literally and saw life as a black and white movie. "That stick in the mud?"

"I was under the impression that all people in SHIELD were sticks in the mud," said Tony. "Hurry, Loki, he's walking fast—oh God, no, stop, stop!"

Clint groaned, rubbing his forehead as he continued mentally mapping the area for their potential escape. He could almost picture Loki wandering aimlessly on the ground floor of the SHIELD headquarters, instigating havoc by just breathing the air. Why Natasha had given in to Loki coming, Clint would never know. He didn't prove to be detrimental to the plan, but he had yet to prove himself useful, either.

He tried to block out the rest of the others' conversation as he navigated the potential escape routes. He was rarely ever stationed in the basement during his SHIELD duties, but he had always been under the impression that there would be at least one other person that had to work underground. This stretch of emptiness made the game almost too easy and he couldn't help but brace himself for a can of snakes or a flying grenade that would shock the complacency out of him.

Already he had asked himself twice why he was doing this.

_Because the whole damn world depends on it, that's why._

But for Loki's sake? _Loki, _of all people?

_The entire universe is in danger._

If they get the scepter successfully, then what? Do they get another day to run away? Another round of cat-and-mouse before a war titan that apparently could wipe out an army with a flex of the arm could get his hands on all the gems?

_Can't you be optimistic for once in your life?_

Maybe if the whole situation didn't revolve around the fact that Loki was practically an honorary Avenger, Clint would have a better time digesting it.

He mentally punched himself. Stupid, he thought. Stupid. Didn't he get over this situation already? What's done was done. What really mattered was that Thanos and Co. was planning on launching an attack on everything that breathed and Loki was against him just as much as they were. The enemy of their enemy was their friend.

It was hard to imagine, much less swallow. Clint had fantasized shooting Loki between the eyes for a much longer time than he did imagining himself working alongside him. Now he was helping Loki get his hands on the very scepter that took over Clint's heart, that destroyed New York City, that started _everything. _

How did it sit so well with everyone else?

A blare of a tinny siren grappled with his head.

"Emergency—this is a code silver," said a voice on the ceiling. Clint halted in his steps. "Everybody, please remain calm and make your way to the main lobby and wait for your commanding officer. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Please remain calm and make your way to the main lobby and wait for your commanding officer."

_Damn._

"That wasn't me," said Tony. Like hell it wasn't Tony. "I didn't do it. That wasn't me."

"Was it Clint? Loki?" said Natasha.

Clint snorted, unabashedly affronted.

"I didn't do shit," said Clint.

"Loki?" said Tony. "He's shaking his head."

What were the odds that Loki caused it on accident? Clint wouldn't hesitate betting a considerable amount of money on that. Loki was the one who exploded the toaster this morning when he thought he was making paninis, after all.

"What's the emergency, can you tell?" said Natasha.

"I can't. I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Empty hallway, empty hallway, crowded hallway, crowded room…Loki, this is your chance. The coast is clear—now book it."

Clint had the mental image of a lab rat trying to find cheese in the maze and he rolled his eyes.

"Which stairway is he coming down from?" said Natasha. "I'll meet with him."

"Stairway 6B, now get to it. Clint, where are you?"

"Can't you see me?" said Clint, waving his hands. Unless Tony was blind and mistook Clint for another floor tile, he couldn't see why Tony could miss him.

He spotted a fire escape staircase down the hall, he jogged toward it, sniffing out another escape possibility. He pressed his hands against the door, perceiving the heaviness of the metal before jiggling the doorknob. Locked, of course. He clenched his teeth and scanned the door cracks, noting the deadbolt sturdiness of the hinges.

He _really _didn't want to crawl around in a tight vent with Loki, if he could help it.

"Excuse me?"

He froze.

That wasn't Natasha, and that definitely wasn't Tony. He didn't even consider Loki for a second.

He turned his head, letting his hands fall guiltily to his sides.

A woman stood several paces away from him, peering at him curiously. She had thin, short blond hair that cupped her head like an egg shell and dazed eyes, as if the irises were colored with wisps of cotton candy. He quickly turned to full attention, taking a step away from the door as if any distance between him and it would lessen the suspicion.

"Are you—are you going up to the lobby too?" he said, his mind working fast. His eyes flickered to the badge on her uniform.

Ah, Agent Vulk. Fate was either kind to him or guffawing at him.

She smiled lightly. "Those stairs are always locked," she said. "They wouldn't give way even during an emergency."

"Oh, really?" said Clint. He turned around as if to give them a second glance, hiding his face from her. As quietly as he could, to the point where his lips barely moved, he spoke.

"Guys, I've been spotted."

"Are you serious?" said Tony. He spoke so loudly Clint hid a wince, wondering if Vulk could hear Tony. "You had one job, Barton!"

"It's Vulk," Clint said. For good measure, he knocked his knuckles against the door as if to test its solidity, distracting Vulk from his moving lips. "She was near the room. Don't come here. I'm giving her an excuse."

"I've seen you around before, haven't I?" said Vulk. Clint turned back sharply, pulling on a face of complete neutrality. "You've no badge of identification, though."

"Agent Barton, of the spy division," said Clint, saluting.

Vulk returned to her usual tight-lipped smile. "Agent Vulk. You're one of the agents stationed at Stark Tower to guard the AEsir prisoner, aren't you? What are you doing here?"

"I was only hear to find some magical restraints for our—you know," said Clint. Surely no one would object if they thought he was trying to subdue Loki. "Stark requested them from me."

"Very wise," said Vulk. "I heard the prisoner could be quite volatile."

"You know," said Clint, giving a casual shrug. "Better safe than sorry. Nothing else. I'm just going to get them and go back."

"Clint, I limited the convo so it's just you and me," said Tony, interrupting Clint's thought. "Stay with Vulk. If she can be your witness that you didn't steal the scepter, then you're in the safe zone."

Wait, so Tony and Natasha were just going to _leave_ Clint in this awkward situation?

"Do you need help looking?" said Vulk, offering a hand.

"Er—I'm fine, really," said Clint. "They're around here somewhere. Besides—" He gestured to the ceiling. "Aren't we supposed to be going up to the lobby? Code silver and everything?"

"It ought not to be an emergency," said Vulk with a wave of the hand.

"You sure?" said Clint, furrowing his eyebrows. "I mean…they did say it wasn't a drill or anything."

"It will take a good hour or more to clear out an entire building of this standard," said Vulk. "They will not miss us. We can fetch you your binds and you can avoid the complications."

"I can do it myself," said Clint, the back of his mind itching. "Thanks—though."

"No, no," said Vulk, her voice light. "I know where they are. They moved locations since the prisoner incident. I know where they are. Come with me."

"But I—don't want to trouble you," said Clint.

Awkward turtles. Awkward turtles _everywhere._

"No, come along," said Vulk. "So you won't have to go through the trouble of signing everything out."

Clint groaned inwardly before following the petite woman away from the hall. If this didn't completely overturn the original plan, then nothing would. He was never bad at improvising strategies to come out of a situation alive, but making split-second decisions to save his skin was never one of his hobbies.

"Clint, are you at the south side? Hum if yes, don't if no," said Tony.

Clint gave the briefest of hums.

"Gotcha."

"How is the prisoner, anyway?" said Vulk as the two of them navigated the halls. Clint felt uneasy in his own skin, as if he crawled into someone else's overlarge coat and he couldn't even move without giving away the fact that he was entirely out of place. "Is he tame?"

"He's—fine," said Clint. "He doesn't cause trouble. Really."

"That is difficult to believe," she said, clucking her tongue.

"That's what I started off thinking too," said Clint. "I keep thinking he'll turn around and screw us over but—but he's not."

A flicker passed across her face, but the emotion was gone as soon as it came.

"Look," said Clint. "It must be hard for you and the rest of SHIELD to believe, but he's not as destructive anymore. At all, really. He's trying to change. Like that incident with the Mind Gem—listen, he didn't mean that at all. I know. So don't persecute him for that. Persecute him all you want for other reasons, but not—_that_."

"The Mind Gem," she repeated. Her eyes flashed.

"It screwed up his magic so that even when we try to censor it the magic is unused to the change, or something like that," said Clint. "So tell Fury—or Winston, for that matter—to bugger off."

Her pink lips curled into a smile. "Of course," she said. She unlocked one of the doors. "Here—the chains are in here."

"I didn't know they only came in chains," said Clint.

"Is that not what you wanted?" said Vulk.

"Maybe in a less incriminating form," said Clint. "As much as I used to find it gratifying to see him all bound up, I have to say it wore off now."

"Oh, do you really now?" she said.

Clint's eyes flickered toward the ceiling. The alarms still rang above their heads. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course," said Vulk, clicking her tongue.

Clint took a second glance at her. She stood patiently at the door, hand hovering over the light switch. He almost thought the alarms were growing louder.

"I better go and check with Stark if that's what he wants first," said Clint. "Let me make a phone call."

"Surely he wouldn't object," said Vulk.

He thought of taking a step back, but found himself too frozen.

"It's his house," said Clint. "If Loki throws a tantrum because of it, that's his house that pays the price."

"I can think of bigger prices," she said.

In the back of his mind, something told him that this was not going according to plan.

He needed to get out of here. Forget sticking close to Vulk, he needed to find Natasha and Loki and bolt.

"I might as well be safe than sorry," said Clint. He glanced around. "Where is this, anyway? North wing? West?"

"Oh, one of the four," said Vulk. She nudged the door open and switched on the lights. He could see silver shelves line the walls inside. "I'm sure there's something other than chains in here, but I don't know where they would be…"

Clint sucked in a deep breath before stepping in before her. The shelves were cluttered with unrecognizable metal, ranging from chains to metal knives. He didn't recall SHIELD having such a peculiar weaponry.

"I'll just ask Fury," said Clint. The air felt cold, and yet it suffocated him. "I have to report it to him anyway, so I might as well ask him."

He couldn't take his eyes off the dangling chain from the ceiling.

"Perhaps it's on this shelf," said Vulk, closing the door to reach the shelf behind it.

"Look," said Clint. He hesitantly touched the chain, coming up with no feasible reason why one would ever need it. "We ought to get back. Code silver and all, and a high-ranking officer like you should give a good example—"

"Clint," said Tony. Clint breathed a sigh of relief; despite not being physically with him, and the fact that he could be the most annoying face on the planet, hearing Tony's voice reassured Clint he wasn't alone. "Clint, you've got to get out."

"Why?" he murmured, barely breathing out the words.

"I found out what code silver was," said Tony. "Someone's been murdered on floor two. And when I say murdered, I mean completely tortured and decimated."

Clint stiffened. His ears were ringing.

"What happened?" he said.

"They just found the body that's been sitting there for who knows how long, and she's completely torn apart. Like, unrecognizable. Clint—Clint, you have to get away from that person you're with."

Clint felt the cold clutch his heart. He forced himself to breathe in and out steadily.

"What are you saying?" he said.

"I don't know who the hell you're following, or why I can't ever find you on the security cameras, but you have to get out now. That person you're with isn't Vulk. Do you copy? That person is _not _Vulk."

"How do you know this?" said Clint.

"Because Vulk was the one murdered. That's her body that was identified torn to pieces in the closet up on floor two. She's dead—Clint, do you hear me? _Get away from that person, now!"_

Clint turned around toward the door only to see Vulk staring at him with deafeningly dark eyes. The door was shut, locked, soundproof behind her. All amicability rotted away and she was _watching _him like a hawk ready for the kill.

_That wasn't Vulk._

A monstrous grin ripped her face. Ripped her skin. Ripped her borrowed, dead façade. The room shrunk.

He felt the chain swing behind him against his back and he wasn't even able to draw breath to yell.

He felt the dagger pierce him before he could see it.


	25. Chapter 25

**I can't help but feel very happy about the turn-out. Before chapter 24, everyone seemed worried that something would happen to Loki, but in fact it's Clint that has the shorter end of the stick in the situation...glad to see that people were worried for our poor Hawkeye. Poor guy has gone so far. **

**What I learned in my first class of Intro to Fiction Writing: to write is a right, to be read is a privilege. That being said, I want to once again thank every one of you from the bottom of my heart for taking time to read my crazy story. Lots of love from LC~**

* * *

Natasha sensed them before she could see them.

"Get down!"

Before Loki could react, she grabbed a hold of his invisible arm and jerked him to the ground before spinning on the spot, swinging the metal meter rod with ferocity. She felt the impact against the sharp end of the stick, saw the spurts of blood erupt from the unseen, heard the screeches.

The moment they were cut, the Chitauri shed their invisible shields, hissing in pain before immediately launching their attacks upon her. Shoving what she hoped was Loki out of the melee, she dived into a roll to avoid a Chitauri's blow before pushing herself off, kicking the Chitauri in the chest in the process.

"Tony, you could have warned us!" she said.

They aimed their rifles at her and pulled the trigger. She was caught in the arm, throwing her off balance—but not nearly enough to throw her off her game. With just as much vengeance, she hurled the meter stick forward. The Chitauri soldier used its rifle to bat it away, but the moment it directed its weapon away from her she ran forth and kicked it in the chest, twisting its arm until the bones cracked underneath the tough skin and wrestling the rifle away from its grip.

"Wasn't I trying to do that until you skipped along toward that area?" Tony said.

"Yeah, well, I think I found the spies," shouted Natasha. She shot down one of the warriors.

"You realize that SHIELD's going to see all of this on their cameras?" said Tony.

Natasha wished she could remind Tony that she was just a little bit too busy to be conversing with him as she dived away from another bout of certain death. She knew that the Chitauri were aiming to kill her—all they really needed was Loki.

She tightened her grip on the rifle. They would not touch him again, if she could help it.

"Whatever you do, Reindeer Games, stay away!" she said. She didn't know if the Chitauri knew Loki was with her, but if they did not, then all the better for her. "I've got this—"

As if she brandished a broadsword, Natasha parried a warrior's rifle away with her own, knocking it off course before aiming a shot at it. It dodged and pulled the trigger, forcing her to dance her way to survival.

"I don't think SHIELD's going to blame Loki for this shit anymore once they've seen this," said Tony.

"Not helping, Stark!" Natasha cocked the rifle, only to find that it was out of power. Her heart leapt to her throat and she looked up, nearly nose to nose with a barrel of the rifle before an unseen force pulled her to the ground before her head was shot through. She gasped, kicking hard only to find her foot in heavy contact with tangible air at her ankle.

"Warn me, at least!" Natasha said to Loki before scrambling back to her feet. "Get out—just get the scepter and get out!"

She felt a soft hit across the back of her head and she gave a yell of frustration.

_I'm not leaving without you, idiot, _said the invisible hand.

She sparred the warrior, but with a dead rifle and a shot arm, they were overpowering her. In five blows, the Chitauri knocked the rifle from her hands, sending it flying down the hall. She fell on her back, pain shooting down her side from the strike, with a Chitauri aiming what positively resembled a _flamethrower_ at her. She could see the bright blue flames building within the nozzle, gathering power, searing—

She saw the flames erupt from the weapon, felt the heat reach out to her, but nothing touched her. The flames dissipated, diverting from her as if she bore an invisible wall. She couldn't breathe, her heart running rapid-fire in her chest, knowing only too well what had the power to protect her.

"Don't!"

It was too late. The air between her and the fire flickered before Loki broke from his invisible armor and came into view. The magic that built the shield around them sapped his energy, leaving him unprotected from all eyes. The moment the fire died down, he fell to his knees, gasping for air.

Natasha took the moment of the Chitauri's distraction to lunge toward it, wrapping her fingers around its neck and locking it into a paralyzing throttle. It thrashed and flailed, trying to fight her off. She only squeezed tighter, feeling the vibration of every struggling breathe shake under her fingers.

Loki pulled himself back onto his feet and forced an attack on the third soldier, using the rifle in its hands to butt against its own chin nailing a kick to its groin and stomach. It doubled over enough for Loki to hurl his fist against its chin and send it flying against the wall.

"Natasha, the guy's reaching for a knife behind him!"

Natasha's hands flew to both sides of the Chitauri's head before twisting it violently, snapping its neck. It shuddered before falling underneath her, sending her crashing onto the ground.

"I take it you fixed the cameras?" Natasha said grudgingly, pushing herself onto all fours.

"I never said it was _impossible…_"

Natasha felt Loki's hands around her arm, pulling her onto her feet. She sucked in a sharp breath of pain as the shot wound shocked her arm and she wrenched her arm away from his. Loki took her arm again, this time more gently, and placed a hand upon the blackened wound.

"Don't, Loki," said Natasha. "Don't do it."

But she felt it before she finished, how the burning subsided and the new layer of skin regrow itself underneath his hand. The moment the pain subsided she pulled back her arm and slapped him across the face.

Already weakened by the magic exertion, he stumbled back, a look of absolute bafflement across his face. It did not improve as she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

"You idiot," she said in his ear. "Don't ever do that to yourself again."

He gave her a tentative pat on the back before she broke away. His ashen face had a harsh red mark across his cheek and she felt a pang of guilt at the sight of it. She placed a cool hand on it.

"Sorry," she said.

Loki smirked and shook his head.

"Once you guys are done with your victory dance," said Tony, "you need to find Clint."

"Where's Clint?" Natasha said, pulling her hand away from Loki's face. "What happened to him?"

"The dead body was identified to be Vulk's. Clint said he was with Vulk. Something obviously doesn't add up. I can't find him and I'm willing to bet that it's the Chitauri that messed with the cameras. They're pretty technologically savvy."

"I thought you fixed them," said Natasha.

"Cameras aren't in every room, every corner. As much as I can see, I _can't_ see."

"Does his ear bud still track his location?" she said.

"It's gone. The signal's gone. I think it's destroyed, the earphone. He's not in friendly hands."

Natasha's stomach churned.

"Stark, how many Chitauri did you say were in the basement?" she said.

"I didn't say any number."

"Then how'd you know if they were there? Listen—I want to find Clint. Loki can get the staff, and if he does it with his magic and you hiding the video feed of his actions, then we'll be set. But I want to know that the threat against SHIELD is dealt with first before I consider them losing their security cameras."

"There are five blobs in the basement, according to the heat signature."

"Risk it. We don't have time to lose," said Natasha. All she could think of was Clint—Clint, who may or may not have wanted to come in the first place but put himself at risk anyway, who hesitated at the idea of splitting up, who probably both knew and had no idea what the hell he signed up for—

"Done and done. Get working," said Tony.

Natasha spun around to face Loki. "The scepter is in the room in the hallway to your left, third floor. I know we meant to do this together but…I need to find Clint."

Loki bit the tip of his tongue but gave a short nod. Natasha was suddenly seized with the desire to hold onto him, as if she could assure he would come back if she latched onto him, albeit briefly. But the thought of Clint with a Chitauri spy—alone—returned to her mind and without waiting another second, she turned around and ran down the hall, blood pounding in her ears.

_Clint—_

* * *

A gnarled finger had dug itself into Clint's ear, pulling out the ear bud before it was squashed into bits of discarded wire and plastic. Clint was barely aware of it, with the digging, inexplicable pain in his shoulder. His hands and feet were bound, but this was far from what kept him from moving. What pained him—and terrified him, if he was honest—was the hook on the chain in his shoulder. Like a fish or a butchered pig, he was strung on a chain by the shoulder, dangling a foot above the ground.

The metal pierced and distorted his skin and muscle, tearing him from the inside as gravity hung heavily on his ankles. The pain made him nearly throw up and his mind ram itself against the side of his head as if desperate to escape the sensation of agony. He barely understood what the creature—the spy—was saying.

"Chitauri typically do not ask questions," said the hissing voice that reminded Clint of wheels on gravel. "We do not waste our time with what does not readily aid us."

Clint wanted to spit in the spy's voice.

"Yeah?" said Clint, his voice having as much volume as a piece of string. "And what about Loki, huh? Was that just a pastime? A sport?"

The spy's lips—or what Clint thought was its lips—curled into a sneer.

"Yes," said the spy. "That is exactly it."

Clint clenched his teeth—both in anger and in pain. "Kind of got that notion considering I'm hanging on a meat hook right now."

"I'm not unreasonable," said the spy. It tugged the pulley until Clint's toes barely scraped the ground. Clint immediately took the chance to set his weight on his toes, easing his throbbing shoulder of his pain. "Especially not with a valuable asset as yourself."

Clint snorted. "Yeah? Well, the handling effing _sucks_."

The spy smiled leisurely before sliding the hook up and down through the hole in Clint's shoulder. Clint clamped his mouth shut to keep from screaming; the hook was barbed.

"No doubt you mortals have a skewed perspective of our kind," said the spy. "But I prefer compromise and agreements. And I'm sure that a compromise is not impossible."

Clint glared at the spy in the midst of his pain. The spy backed off, wiping its bloody fingertips on its armor. Clint's blood glinted red in the white light.

"Sticking me through isn't a good way to convince me to buddy up with you, you know," said Clint.

"Subjugation is meant to quell the wild spirit," said the spy. "Just as you would muzzle a beast before you treat it."

Clint swallowed, his saliva tinged with blood from biting down on the side of his cheek so hard. He felt vomit rising from his stomach as the pain dizzied him.

"Didn't know you alien types spoke English," said Clint.

"Do not think we are so mindless," said the spy. "As a warrior race, we are expected to use knowledge to its advantage."

"Kind of hard to picture that," said Clint, "considering you're under the control of some crazy-ass titan that wants to kill everything in existence anyway."

He felt the tension on the chain before the excruciating pain as he was lifted off the floor again, so sharply he was almost certain muscles were irrevocably torn in his shoulder. He gave a shout of pain that he could not force down, forcing himself not to twist or writhe in midair to disturb the wound. When he was lowered closer to the ground, he was gasping for air.

"You are foolish," said the spy, its voice edgy. "You know nothing in respect to the entire universe. You, who've only seen the tiny speck of Earth in comparison to the entire universe. Entire _existence_."

"I'm pretty sure death is death no matter where your spaceship's parked," said Clint, nearly out of breath.

"And will not death bring order?" said the spy. "Will it not set the planets and stars into the motion they were meant to hold until mortals and immortals alike distorted its nature? We Chitauri are keepers of order, and life has corrupted its balance. More specifically, it is the life of mortals and AEsir that corrupt the balance, that think it is their place to conquer other realms and poison its resources with their waste."

Clint didn't know if the spy was pulling his leg or if he was being absolutely serious.

"Are you kidding me?" said Clint. "So your whole purpose in life is to make sure we're all dead?"

"You mortals are self-centered and vile," said the spy. "You think that what revolves around you and your lives is what matters the most. Never the ultimate peace of the universe. Never the _order_ of how things ought to be."

"You don't decimate us and call that peace," said Clint. "That's called the biggest act of violence you're ever going to get."

"Mortal ethics were always so slanted," said the spy. "If you will not put the order of all existence above everything else, then I have no respect for you. And when I have no respect for you, I will not hesitate."

"What about that Thanos asshole?" said Clint, struggling to keep himself from gasping in pain. "All he cares about is pleasing Death. Isn't that putting one thing over everything?"

"You will not speak poorly of our master," said the spy. "Our life is bound to him, thriving because of him, much like how some of our brothers are bound to their mother ships. To insult him is to insult all of us."

Clint would have made a sour retort when he came to a realization. The Chitauri's lives, their entire existence, depended on a single being. The fact that their purpose in life had to cling like parasites to the bidding of one creature—and a crazy, merciless creature, at that—made Clint almost pity them.

The spy leaned closer, its dark eyes no more than two inches away from Clint's face. Clint felt repulsed, as if he looked into the eyes of a battered road kill.

"Where do you keep the Frost Giant?"

Clint gritted his teeth. It was always Loki, wasn't it? Loki who brought the Chitauri to Earth in the first place, Loki whose staff sent them all on this godforsaken mission, Loki who had Thanos and the Chitauri chasing after their tails, Loki whom the Chitauri apparently needed back so much that Clint was here dangling on what was left of his left shoulder.

"Under the Christmas tree," said Clint.

The hook in Clint's shoulder jerked and he gasped in pain as he was hoisted off the ground again, pulled up and down violently until the hook dug deeper into him, splitting his muscles and scratching against his bones. His body gave a spasm of pain, twisting the hook in him and he couldn't breathe.

"So you have a sense of humor," said the spy. "So do I. But let that be the final act. Shall I ask again? Will you be more compliant?"

Clint was lowered to the ground, but no sooner did his feet meet solid floor did the spy grab Clint by the throat. Clint struggled to breathe through his paper-thin airway.

"Under what protection do you keep the Asgardian?" said the spy.

"As if you don't know already," choked out Clint. "Your fellow soldiers crashed into New York City a while ago, didn't they?"

"A wise observation," said the spy as Clint's throat burned for air. "Those arrogant, hungry fools did not anticipate the gravity of the situation. An underling discovered the truth and instead of reporting to his officers gathered a vigilante of his own to attack for his own glory. But of course, came to the welcoming arms of Earth's greatest heroes, and what an advantage that has given us!"

Clint swallowed. Each breath was a knife swimming through his veins.

"But we don't need to resort to mindless violence, do we?" said the spy. "Not when you could be so gratified if you handed over the Asgardian."

"Oh yeah?" said Clint through clenched teeth. "Something tells me you don't know much about what pleases me if you're trying to be diplomatic after you've stabbed me in the shoulder."

"Do not pretend you would not consider the same if the roles are reversed," said the spy. "That is the funny phenomenon of all the different creatures of the realms. If the enemy looks nothing like you, a little torture doesn't nick the conscience."

"So you lizards have a conscience?" said Clint. The pain was intensifying. "Funny—that you say that—after you deal with Loki so badly he doesn't talk."

"So the Asgardian doesn't make a sound still, does it?" said the spy. "I suppose that means it cannot tell you what did happen to it during our time together? Or, perhaps more accurately, what did not happen?"

Clint stopped his struggling. He looked up at the spy demandingly.

"What are you insinuating?" said Clint.

"Ah, ah," said the spy. "I'll let you figure that out for yourself."

Clint bit down on his tongue. It was true; he had no idea what Loki went through during his captivity with the Chitauri—it could have been absolutely horrible or absolutely…nothing. If he was silent, he didn't have to lie. For all they knew, he could have teamed up with the Chitauri and plotted mass destruction of Earth and was brought to Earth under the pretense of torture to gain their favor. This whole thing could be a trick.

_Stop, _he urged himself. _This is exactly what the enemy wants you to think. Stop._

But how did he know that Loki was not the enemy?

_Because they had the same enemies._

How was it not an act?

The seed of doubt was always the easiest to sow.

"Forget it," Clint said, nearly spitting the words to speak. "Whatever his side is doesn't change the fact you want to blow everything up."

"Mortals as a whole are destructive and foolish," said the spy. "But you can be spared, mortal, for your role would be too insignificant to bring ruination. You and your companions. The mortals are the ones that cause the most damage and crimes upon your home that force you to fight. If they were gone, would you not be at peace? At rest?"

"No," said Clint. "You're crazy."

"You will not do it to save your few companions?" said the spy. It clucked its tongue. "Pitiful. And here, the Asgardian said that you humans had puffed up hearts."

"What did he tell you?" Clint said.

He was dangling on the hook like a fish on a line; all the spy had to do was reel him in with his rod of lies.

"It told us _everything,_" said the spy. "Your mortal headquarters. Your greatest weaknesses. Your fears. And then you took it in like a wounded pup."

Clint did not take his eyes off of the spy. It had to be lying—it had to. Clint wasn't a fool, nor was he gullible. But the accusation struck a chord in him that he couldn't identify.

"You shoved the goddamn Mind Gem in his chest yourself," said Clint. "What sort of ally does that and then sends him off just to chase after him again?"

"You think it did not run off itself?" said the spy. "That it escaped for its own selfish desires? It is not part of a whole—it tears itself apart, thinks itself higher, only to be devastatingly weak."

"You're a liar," Clint said, raising his voice until he sounded nearly hysterical. "You're lying, you're lying, _you're lying_."

"You will not accept the truth?" said the spy. "What was it about the Frost Giant that has softened your heart to the eternal traitor? Did it cry its pretty eyes in front of you? Did it cower at your shadow like a shamed beast? Did it give you a morsel of compassion for you to suck on?"

"None of your business," said Clint.

He saw the spy's hand upon the chain and he braced himself for the pain (_no no nomorepleaseno not the painIdon'twa nt). _He was almost positive his gums were bleeding from how tightly he bit down on his teeth to keep from screaming.

"You once had hatred in your heart for the Asgardian," said the spy. "Have you banished it from your mind, or does it lie dormant in you? Does it crave for revenge, for justice, like lust? Does it not want to make the Asgardian pay for its crimes?"

Clint only now realized how the spy referred to Loki as an 'it.' It strangely sickened him.

"Do you not want to do something before it takes what you want most?" said the spy in such a sickeningly sympathetic voice that Clint wanted to kick at it, if only it would not upset his already dire wound.

"You're talking bull," said Clint.

"Am I?" said the spy. "You are very, very mistaken, mortal."

The spy turned away and slipped through the door. Clint's mind raced—he couldn't waste these precious seconds of privacy. He needed to escape. He needed to get out of here before this spy played mind games with him without even needing a damn scepter. He couldn't get himself off of the hook but surely there was a way to notify the others where he was. There were no security cameras in the closet, but surely Tony could think outside the box.

He reached out his bound feet in a swift swoop to knock down the shelf closest to him. It toppled with a deafening crash, but the movement pained Clint's shoulder so badly he was blinded. He swallowed down vomit as black dots speckled his vision. He stretched his feet until his toes scraped the floor, barely lessening the load off of his shoulder.

_What if it was right?_

_What if the spy was right?_

He thought of how Natasha was probably alone with Loki this very moment and he bit down a cry.

Natasha.

If Loki touched her—if Loki let any harm come upon her—

He breathed short breaths through clenched teeth. He was almost hyperventilating.

_Natasha._

He could only be glad that it was not she dangling by her muscles by a hook in the ceiling. His mind betrayed him and pictured her tortured by the spy and he suddenly felt so much anger within him that he gave a silent scream.

He didn't know how many Chitauri were here—but if there was only one and it only knew of Clint, then that meant Natasha was safe. As safe as she could be without Chitauri, anyway.

As for Loki…

Natasha trusted Loki. She _trusted_ him, and she was normally a good judge of character. Surely she was right. She had to be right.

She had to be all right.

The door was kicked open, making him jerk and upsetting his shoulder. Sweat was pouring down his hairline now.

The spy emerged from the other side, this time with another Chitauri soldier who dragged something behind it. Clint breathed deeply through his nose, trying to clear his mind and lungs from the pain.

"If I cannot convince you to give up the Asgardian," said the spy, "perhaps another can."

Before Clint could shoot back a retort, the other soldier hurled the figure behind it into the room before stepping outside to guard the door. It crashed onto the floor, clad in black and drenched in red, curled in a ball and shuddering.

Clint's heart skipped a beat as the figure lifted its head to face him.

"Nat?" he whispered.

Blood. There was so much blood on her side, her legs, her chest, her head. So much pain—she could barely keep herself up straight. She kneeled before him, almost dying.

"Clint," she choked out. Blood ran down her lips. "Clint, I've been compromised."

When Loki had taken over Clint's mind years ago with the staff, Clint clearly remembered the edges of his vision lining a bright blue, the colors hazing as if in some psychedelic theme. The world became obscurer by sharpening, convincing him that the change was the truth.

Now, he knew nothing possessed him, but anger colored his vision blood red.


	26. Chapter 26

**I'm so glad to see a lot of new readers coming to this story! Welcome and I hope you enjoy the ride! **

* * *

Loki stared down at his new hand. This woman—Agent Hill—had very calloused fingers, her nails chipped from strain. This woman's form was uncomfortable—foreign. Like garments that itched insufferably.

He swayed slightly on his feet and pressed against the wall to keep his balance. He cursed in his mind; he shouldn't have used so much of his magic, looking back. Without the cuff it was easier for his magic to rebuild, but it was far from its highest level. He felt his veins ache as they tried to stretch his meager magic to keep up his appearance.

He stood before the door—the staff within. His fingers itched at the idea of it. To have his power in control, in ultimate potency, was tempting—lusty, even. If he could be free of the Mind Gem's clutches, if he could have ultimate and absolute control over himself…

The dangerous thoughts swelled and he forced himself to nudge them aside. His full power was not the reason for this god-awful expedition, but for the protection of this realm. Of _Midgard_. The very realm that he tried to both destroy and instill peace via his rule. The realm that probably detested his very being, and here he was putting many necks on the line just to gamble the chance of protecting it and the rest of the realms.

Wouldn't the mortals think it droll?—the mortals that lived as briefly as a housefly would and yet their time of life was so inexplicably precious to the formidable beings of all of Yggdrasil. Why Thanos did not think Death was satisfied enough with mortals dying off from old age or disease or freak accidents happening each year, Loki did not know.

He pulled open the panel on the wall beside the bolted door. There was a number pad, clear glass panel and red light within the square. Loki recognized the same attributes on JARVIS at Stark Tower.

"Okay, Bambi," said Tony. "The key password is five, two, eight, four, nine, one. You got it?"

Loki pressed the correct numbers, waiting with baited breath. After a second of an afterthought, the flashing screen glowed green with approval.

"Now, let it scan your thumb and eye," said Tony. "Don't worry, it won't hurt. A lot easier than sticking some metal claw into someone's skull, anyway."

Mortals indeed have long memories.

Loki pressed his thumb against the clear plastic, letting the red light pass over it and copy the stolen thumbprint into its system. When a green light flashed next to it, he crouched over and stared into the red light; he felt the warmth of the light as it scanned Hill's eye, accepting him as their trusted agent, before the doors clicked and slid apart.

His heart leapt and he immediately shed his disguise. The room was long and dim, but he could feel the thrumming of magic as solidly as a gust of wind. It was empowering—enticing, even—and it took much self-control to not run forth. His energy was famished, parched for power, and he was just several paces away.

He let the door close behind him, walking forward, his boots clapping a lonely sound on the floor. Machines filled the room, but not a single one of them hummed. Other unearthly weapons were locked in glass cases, but Loki paid no heed to them.

He could have sworn that for once he felt the _Mind Gem _squirm in fear in his chest.

Down the halls, down the paths in the room, until he felt the magic reverberate stronger as if played like a lute.

His breathing quickened.

A faint blue light. He recognized it. Just shoved against the wall in a glass cage.

He stepped toward it, slowly reaching out a hand to take it.

_Power, power, power seidr seidr seidrseidr_

He remembered the anger that pulsed in his hand in that staff—his anger and self-righteousness and pain that made his power _soar._

He paused.

He was fifteen feet away and he stopped in his tracks. His blood ran cold.

_I who was and should be king _

_you tossing me into an abyss_

_I was the rightful king of Asgard—betrayed—_

_Monster that parents tell their children about at night_

**_No, Loki—_**

Was he going mad?

He was—he had to—if he hadn't fallen from the brink already.

Memories—nostalgia—no, not nostalgia—déjà vu—

Forget.

Forget.

He couldn't afford a bout of mental delusion at a time like this.

It was surely only his mind. Only his imagination.

Barton needed help fast and Loki couldn't _dawdle _because coming to the staff reignited old memories like this.

He changed, didn't he?

(Did he?)

The young trickster was dead, and so were his nightmares. This was he, Loki, and he had grown in his isolation. The same pains and hungers that goaded him to wage war on Midgard were obsolete. And if they were not, he would force them to be.

_(Because it doesn't hurt to think about Odin or Asgard, it doesn't hurt to look down at his hands and imagine them blue, it doesn't hurt it doesn't)_

The scepter was secured in the glass case, but Loki was suffocated by its presence. If he must master this weapon, his heart must be clean. It must be unburdened by darkness that had the potential to consume him. He knew the implications: the staff brewed in emotion and stripped all inhibitions, and if he could not cap his own, if he could not control it—

He lifted open the glass, holding his breath. It was as untarnished and gleaming as he had seen it the first time, when his master (_no not master never master never his never never oh master please master it hurts it _hurts) had bestowed it to him so long ago in exchange for a promise. Its veneration demanded fear.

His fingers curled around the cold metal and his magic jolted in excitement within him. It surged, flowing freely like a river, as shallow as it was with the Mind Gem in him. It pulsed, energy wrapping around him, breeding, feeding.

Something within him jolted.

_"Worthless monster, who makes play he's still a king."_

_"Unloved and unknown, who thinks himself a prince."_

His mind and heart were set on fire.

_Images of Thor, dying in an alleyway._

When he breathed, he never had enough.

_Heads ripped off, bodies limp on the floor, "Long live the king, long live the king—"_

Anger was not unfamiliar—

_They will fight and they will fall—_

He lifted the scepter from its stand, and how it sang with power!

How he grinned in the dark.

* * *

Loki betrayed them.

That, or Loki was lying somewhere with his head ripped off and Natasha was the only survivor.

Clint didn't know which scenario he'd rather believe in, but truthfully he couldn't care less. All that he knew was that Natasha was bleeding in front of him and she needed help or something and this wasn't according to the plan.

"Nat," he whispered. She was on her knees and he tried to bent down, but the hook kept him firmly above her and he wanted to curse out loud. "Nat, are you okay? Did they—did it—?"

He knew very little could hurt Natasha physically, much less cripple her like this. He could only imagine the worst and feel sickened by it.

She was breathing quickly, and shallowly, and he feared she was hyperventilating.

"Nat, it's me. It's Clint. You're with me, you're not alone," said Clint. How he wished his hands weren't bound behind him! It almost physically pained him more than the hook in his shoulder not to hold her and comfort her. "We're together, see? We're not alone and we're going to get out of this and we'll be fine."

"I was apprehended," Natasha said, her voice strangled. "I was cornered, I tried fighting, but—"

There were more of the Chitauri. Shit, shit, shit. Clint breathed in and out deeply, trying to keep his head level. How many more, he did not know. Natasha could fight an impressive number of Chitauri in one fight, so if she was so outnumbered that she lost…

"It wasn't your fault. Like hell it was your fault," said Clint. "You're here now. We're here. If they do anything else to you, I'll—"

At those words, Natasha let out a choked sob and hid her face in her hands. Clint felt what little color that was in his face drain away.

"What did you do to her?" he yelled at the spy, who stood before the shut door. "What did you do?"

"It is not what we did do," said the spy. "But what we may."

Clint tore his gaze away from the spy; there was no time to get angry.

"Nat, they're not going to do anything to you. I won't let them. Do you hear me? _I won't let them,_" said Clint. His mind was whirring and words tumbled out of his mouth. He didn't know what he could do—what he could afford to do—but if it meant making sure nothing touched Natasha, then it had to be worth it.

"I don't believe you are in the position to decide that," said the spy. It reached out and grabbed Natasha by her red curls. She sucked in a breath as it wrenched her to sit up straight. Clint saw how swollen and bruised her face was and he let out a yell of fury.

"You want to beat anyone up, that's me," said Clint. "You leave her alone. I've already got a damn hook in my shoulder, just hurt me."

"But how easy it is to stay silent if that were the case!" said the spy. It pulled out a long knife from its side and Clint thrashed in the spot.

"You said you were meant to bring order!" he said. "You said you want to keep the balance but what you're doing right now is downright chaos."

"Chaos upon mortals is merely a child's play," said the spy. "Come, now. Did I not promise that if you aided us, your companion—" It kicked Natasha hard against her back. "—would join you in safety?"

"For how long?" said Clint. "Until Thanos blows up the entire universe with us in it?"

"You are persistent in your hatred for our leader," said the spy. "Fine. Shall you think of it that way? Then would you rather die hand in hand with her, following her into the dark, or shall we cut straight to the end?"

The tip of the knife wheedled against the side of Natasha's neck. A bead of blood bloomed from her skin.

"Wait," said Clint. His heart hammered against his chest. He had to think fast—of anything. "Wait, let me talk to her. Please."

"To say your last goodbyes before your foolishness kills her?"

"Sure," he said, the words tangling on his tongue. "Come on, just—I'll talk to her."

The spy lowered its knife before nodding and throwing her forward. She fell upon Clint's feet, pulling him slightly down and wrenching his shoulder even more painfully on the hook.

"Tasha, can you stand?" said Clint. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Natasha slowly rose to her feet, swaying on the spot. He could see how her ankle was twisted unnaturally and a pang wracked his heart. She raised her gleaming eyes to his, her entire form shuddering.

"What did those bastards do to you?" Clint whispered.

Natasha swallowed hard before shaking her head.

"They won't stop with me, Clint," she said. "Even if you don't talk and I get killed, they won't stop there. They'll threaten more people, and more, and more."

"They'd have an easier time looking for Loki themselves," said Clint.

"They said they would compromise," she said. She spat out blood and he flinched. "They said—Midgard would be spared if you told them."

"Christ," said Clint. "Do you believe that?"

"I don't know," she said. "All I know is that if we do nothing then it's guaranteed people will die."

"If we give up the Mind Gem, then it's guaranteed that people will die then too," said Clint. His eyes hardened. "Nat, what did they say they would do to you if I didn't tell? Besides kill you. I know that there's more."

Natasha let out a whimper and she nearly fell to her knees, but she kept herself steady against the wall.

"Nat—oh, for Christ's sake—" He looked up to the spy. "At least give her a chair or something!"

Clint suddenly went crashing onto the floor as the chain that held him up loosened. He felt sharply on his knees, Natasha following. Even with his arms and legs bound, he made sure she was eased to a sitting position against the wall.

"Clint, they'll take me," said Natasha. "They know everything about me—intimately—everything I fear—every way I fear dying. When Loki found out through you after the battle, he—and the Chitauri—"

"It's not going to happen," said Clint. He made sure his voice was steady, even though his heart was beating rapid fire. "It's not going to happen."

"I'm afraid," said Natasha, her voice shaking. "I could only ever tell you this. I'm so scared."

"It won't come to that," said Clint. "Just stay calm and trust me. How did they catch you? Where's Loki?"

"That's what we have to tell them," said Natasha.

"No, I meant, where did Loki go?"

Natasha breathed quickly, nearly choking on her own air, and she pressed her hand against her mouth as if she was about to vomit. But Clint was sharp—he noticed, and his mind raced.

The flash of confusion in her eyes.

"Take in deep breaths, Natasha," said Clint, speaking slowly as his mind worked swiftly. Surely she knew where Loki was, as they were going to find the scepter together. He could see that there was no ear bud in her ears; did the Chitauri force it out of her, or was it never there?

"You begin to bore me, mortals," said the spy. "Shall I quicken the process?"

"Wait," said Clint. "A little longer."

He stared deep into Natasha's eyes. "Eyes on me, Natasha. Calm down. It's okay, no need to hyperventilate or panic or anything."

If she never met up with Loki after all, she would have just said so. If Loki was attacked and dead somewhere and she was all that was left, neither of them would be here now. If Loki had defected and left her to face the Chitauri, neither of them would be here now either. If Loki was in _any _situation, hurt, apprehended, compromised, _anything_, Natasha would have just told him because surely the Chitauri would already know that Loki was with them in the SHIELD headquarters—

He felt nauseous.

"Nat, I'm going to make a decision, all right?" he said softly. "And you know that no matter what, I'm going to protect you."

Honeyed words, as soft and delicate as glass. Perhaps that was how lies were spun.

"I trust you," she murmured.

He had to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching. It was indeed her voice saying it, but he never imagined her shaping those words so bluntly, so easily, _ever_.

"Come here," said Clint, gesturing to her. She leaned over and rested her head on his uninjured shoulder as if to embrace, except both of them were too worn and in pain to raise their arms. He felt the weight of her head on his bones and he swallowed hard. "Listen to me. I'll tell them where Loki is. I'll help bring him to them. I'll strike a deal, you got it?"

"What?" she said, her voice thin.

"You heard me," he said. Slowly, surely, he twisted his body as if to comfort her, but he felt the hook slide in his muscles. It burned, but the fact that it could move and not just tear was all he needed. "I'll hand them over and compromise. We'll keep Ear—we'll keep Midgard safe. That'll be the bargain."

"Clint," she said.

The point was the hardest, how it curled and proved nearly impossible, but Clint was halfway there and he wasn't going to turn back. He sucked in a breath, his body shaking.

"Nat?" he said. He knew how to play this game now. A considerable amount of weight fell from his shoulder. "Do you love me?"

She shifted slightly, turning her head until she faced him, her eyes deep blue.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes."

He closed his eyes.

"Oh, Nat," he said. "I know you too well."

The hook fully free from his shoulder, he swiftly jumped onto his feet, took hold on the hook and chain behind him with his bound hands, and spun sharply, stabbing Natasha in the neck.

She screeched, but not in her voice—a horrific, reptilian howl that shattered his ears. Her form contorted, malformed, until her pale, familiar face twisted and the disguise fell away, revealing a writhing, dying Chitauri on the other end of the hook, its shape-shifting magic sapped away.

He knew, he thought with a grim smile as the spy howled and the blow pummeled him in the stomach. He knew, because Natasha was never so honest. Her truths were twisted to sound like lies and by far she hid the truth the most from herself. An imposter would say anything they thought he wanted to hear, and the price was the truth.

The blast threw him against the wall and his head spun. He couldn't move his hands with their binds, and he was certain that even if the rope was cut that he would not be able to move his right arm. He yelled, but there was no possible way that anyone could hear him, and even if they did, they could not move faster than the spy raging toward him this instant.

The door flew open and the other soldier took charge, shooting its rifle at Clint. Clint fell onto the floor, rolling onto his back and kicking at the metal shelves along the walls until they toppled onto the two Chitauri. It could only serve as a distraction at most; with the floor slick with his and the fallen imposter's blood, his limbs bound and paralyzed, Clint didn't know how long he could truly last. They were no longer aiming to subdue him; they sought to kill him.

He swung his legs against the sharp end of the fallen shelf and tore off the bounds at his ankles. His legs finally free, he gathered himself to his feet and had barely enough time to kick away one of the Chitauri's rifles before it hurled a fist at him. It caught him straight in the chest and he was certain some of his ribs broke on the impact as he toppled onto the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

This was it. This was the day he was going to die, with two Chitauri coming straight toward him. He couldn't get out, he couldn't move, he could barely breathe—

There was a guttural shriek followed by sickly sputtering, and no killing blow upon him. Clint looked up, nearly blinded with pain, to see the Chitauri guard writhing in pain, a shattered end of a meter stick pierced through its chest. The metal twisted within its body with a brutal, moist crunch as bones and insides contorted within the body before sinking back into the skin. The guard fell to the ground, dead before it touched the floor, blood pooling from its nose, mouth, and wound, revealing Natasha behind it—her eyes flashing with danger.

The moment the spy laid its eyes on Natasha in the room, it charged toward her with such speed that Clint panicked for her survival. Before more carnage could play out, she rolled out of the way, sending the spy crashing into a dark-clad figure (he knew who it had to be before he even saw who it was). Loki, armed with his all-too-familiar scepter, bashed the spy against the head with his weapon until it fell at his feet. Natasha launched herself around its neck, and with her charged suit, shocked it into paralysis. It jerked at the jolt and fell to the ground underneath her.

"Leave it!" said Natasha as Loki stepped forward, holding his scepter aloft. "We'll question it ourselves."

Before Loki could silently protest, Natasha hurried to Clint's side. Clint could barely hold himself up off the ground, his right side nearly useless. With a flick of a hidden blade she sliced off his bounds and his arms fell free. She pulled him off the ground, her careful hands trying to stem the heavily bleeding wound.

"Clint, I'm so sorry," she said. And it was absolutely, undoubtedly her—the gruff edge of her voice, the low whisper, everything was unmistakably her, saying all the words Clint knew to expect from her. "We're going to get you out of here and fix you up, and—Clint, stay with me. I'm so sorry."

His breathing was ragged and he didn't know if he would come out of this with his right arm anymore. Despite it all, he raised his eyes to Natasha and, seeing that she was perfectly unmarred by injuries, felt relief wash over him.

"Next time," he croaked, "we are so seducing Fury instead."

* * *

The look on Tony's face when he found out he had to transport both a half-conscious Clint and a Chitauri prisoner out of SHIELD headquarters in his Lamborghini would have made Loki laugh if it were in any other situation out of context. But there was no time for teasing or laughter when Clint was bleeding out and Loki found himself wanting to strike the spy with the blunt end of his staff every time he saw it twitch. He was used to traveling at breakneck speed, thanks to the Bifröst, but Tony's speed when he drove them back to the tower was like shuttling through light.

The moment the Lamborghini was safely inside the garage underneath Stark Tower, Natasha immediately supported Clint out of the car and away to medical help, where Bruce was waiting at the ready. Loki couldn't catch sight of her face before she whisked away with Clint, but he could imagine her face unreadable and yet strained with worry for her—her what?

Friend? Brother-in-arms? Lover?

He assumed Clint was the latter, and pretended that it made no difference.

Loki stood by the doors to the medic labs for a short amount of time.

Long enough, though, to see the medics bustle in and out, blood on their gloves and impersonal masks over their noses and mouths. Long enough to hear Clint screaming in pain behind the doors that slid open and shut so frequently. Long enough to know his rawest thoughts without even needing the scepter.

The wound was bad, that much Loki knew. Prolonged exposure to stress from being strung up on a hook, after all. And it was a hook of Chitauri technology, after all—the Chitauri were very advanced in their methods of pain. Infection ravaged the wound, spreading like wildfire, burning Clint's arm until the aloof master assassin couldn't hold back a sob. The wound festered too quickly, and the muscles were too torn.

Loki did not see Natasha anywhere. Perhaps she was with Clint right now, as blood poured from his arm. Maybe she kissed his forehead as he sobbed. Holding his hand, whispering promises that she had no power to keep, soothing his frayed mind. She had that effect, and Loki doubted he was the only one to notice.

He imagined them in close proximity to each other, their heartbeats a breadth away. What a strange thought to think.

He pretended that he did not recognize the pang of jealousy.

(What a lie. Was it not his closest companion? Was it not shame and hatred that had stayed by his side for as long as he lived, the most loyal of friends that held him tight in his darkest moments? Were they not the first to reach a hand to him when he fell? Did they not have the utmost faith in him?)

Loki's heart should rot in his chest, from all the black thoughts that coated it like slick tar. To pine for the attention of a mere mortal when someone else was obviously in more dire need of it. When said mere mortal would no doubt choose another when given the choice. Loki had a long memory—how Clint hesitated when he spoke of her that time Loki demanded Clint tell him everything about the Avengers, how the raw fear shone in Natasha's eyes when Loki threatened Clint's mind and life…truly, it should not have been a surprise.

He felt a weight upon him and blamed it on the stones in his pocket.

He watched the unyielding door. His mind told him to walk through them, to see Clint, to make sure he was all right—it was because of his scepter that the archer was injured, after all. But his legs refused to move, and he felt as if moving a single muscle would tear him apart. He was glued to this space on the floor, to these air particles, that kept him from moving forward. From seeing.

He imagined Natasha reading Clint poetry at his bedside and he gave a small smile. For someone who claimed all she had in her heart was an archive of debts, she knew very well how to show love.

He wondered, childishly, if she read to everyone she knew that got injured. She wondered if anything she did with Loki was solely for him, and his only, that she confided in him and none else. If it was not out of circumstance, but because she was she and he was he.

Was it selfish to wonder?

He imagined her holding Clint's hand tight as the worst of the pains wracked his body, her fingers interlocked with his. Their hands pressed so tightly together that the lines on their palm engraved into each other's flesh.

(He clasped his hands together as if in prayer and realized that he never knew what it felt like to fill the gaps between his fingers)

And Clint would scream and shatter Loki's thoughts, because Midgardian medicine could not put Clint to rest, nor could it stem the flow of the infection.

Loki closed his eyes, packaging his raw thoughts in a tight box and shoving them into the corners of his mind, before slipping through the metal doors. There were only three medics, Bruce included, that were able to help Clint. The table that Clint lay on was spattered with his blood and Clint was breathing shallowly and rapidly, his chest rising at an alarming rate. He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched and trying to bite back a scream. The wound on his shoulder was mottled, almost blackened. Loki could recognize a cursed wound just by the smell of it, its stench wet and sickening.

"Loki, what are you doing here?" said Bruce the moment he saw Loki at the door. "You have to leave, we're just—we're swamped."

Loki's eyes darted to the figure standing a little ways off from the bed. Natasha was watching the medics with the intensity in her eyes that he came to recognize well. She clutched her arms stiffly, and he could tell that it took much of her not to be closer to Clint.

He took a step closer, almost challengingly. The medics were trying to sew up the wound, but the string they used dissolved as soon as it slipped through Clint's skin. Did they not realize the intensity of this wound?

"Loki, give them space," said Natasha. Her voice was thin but otherwise calm. "Let them do their job."

Did she doubt his abilities? He wanted to snort. While mortals were not completely clueless, they certainly still had ignorance.

"We're going to have to tie off his shoulder," said Bruce, his voice grim. "Nothing's stopping the bleeding. Any longer and he'll bleed out. Tourniquet, clamp, anything."

"No," choked out Clint, nearly delirious from the pain. "No, don't do it. You'll cut off my arm. You'll cut off my whole arm."

"Clint, we're doing this to help you, okay?" said Bruce. "Clint—listen—you have to trust me. You have to trust us."

"You can't. You can't," Clint said, and he was nearly in tears. "You can't cut it off. I'll be useless. I'll be nothing. You can't cut off my arm, you can't cut off _me, _Doc. Please—please, you can't."

"Clint—" Natasha said, but her voice was strangled and all pretty lies ran dry. Her eyes shone with dangerous tears that Loki was unaccustomed to. It struck him deeply.

One of the medics was about to cut off the circulation from Clint's arm with a tight cord until Loki put a hand on his wrist to stop him. The medic looked up reproachfully, trying to shake off Loki's hand.

"You have to _leave, _sir," said the medic, his voice evidently embittered. Loki was not popular even for SHIELD's live-in team.

Loki took a step closer, pushing his way to Clint's side. Before any of the others could pull him away, he put a hand upon Clint's bleeding shoulder.

The curse was immediately evident. It pulsed under his palm, squirming and itching like burrs. It bundled in Clint's shoulder like a ball of barbed wire, tearing at anything that did so much as graze it. He felt it wheeze and ooze like a sickly creature rearing its ugly head, seeking better prey.

"What are you doing?" said the medic. He grabbed Loki roughly by the arm to pull him away, but Loki turned and gave the medic such a stare that the medic backed away immediately. Loki turned back to Clint, who gasped for breath, his eyes upon Loki but barely seeing.

_Just trust me._

Loki let one finger slip into the wound, into the warm sticky blood and ruined muscle. There were cries of protest around him, but Loki raised his other fist as if to say that anyone that tried to come near him was not going to come out untouched. Bruce was the only one of the three doctors that did not watch Loki with cries of indignation or anger, but instead with pensive patience and nervousness.

Just as his finger sank deep enough, the curse sensed his presence immediately. It was a hungry bastard, preying on strength and pain, and the moment it detected Loki's hand coursing with tempting power, it sought him out immediately. It dragged itself closer toward Loki's finger, running its claws through Clint's veins and muscles along the way. Clint groaned and let his head fall back, closing his eyes.

_If you want me, come claim me._

He lifted his finger just enough to tempt the curse as it snapped its metaphorical jaws at his fingernail, desperate for a bite. He let out sparks of harmless magic from his fingertip to goad it further until it practically squirmed with excitement. Clint gasped at the sudden pain and Natasha immediately clutched Loki's elbow in worry. Loki jumped at the sudden contact, but he did not tear his attention away from the situation at hand.

"What the hell is he doing?" said one of the mortals.

"Stand back," said Bruce.

The curse finally caught Loki's fingertip, clinging to him with such intense force and Loki feared _he _would be pulled into Clint's body and devoured within his bloodstream. Keeping a grip on the curse, he firmly extracted his hand from Clint's shoulder as the curse tightened its hold on him. He grimaced at the sight of what dangled on his finger; Natasha's fingernails dug into his elbow and one of the doctors gave a cry of disgust. Like heavy tar, the sludge-like curse oozed from Loki's fingertip, stretching itself to engulf Loki's hand and still have enough to ooze toward the floor, heavy with burden. It burned at the touch, stinging like needles embedded in his skin. He felt as if it would rip his flesh should he try to wipe it off.

With steel in his eyes that spoke volumes of intimidation, he pointed to the door, gesturing—_forcing—_the other doctors to leave. He didn't particularly care if Bruce stayed, or Natasha, but those other mortals who thought they had any knowledge in healing might as well hang up their long white coats and take on another occupation.

"He wants you to leave," said Natasha behind him. He couldn't see her face. He couldn't tell what she felt.

"He has no authority—" started one.

Loki made a swift motion with his wrist, brandishing his hand forward until the black curse whipped toward the speaking doctor, reaching a near inch to his face before snapping it back toward Loki. It was enough to make the doctor gasp and stumble into Bruce, the look on his face indescribably worth it. Loki gave a smirk despite the pain that sank into his hand, now slowly inching toward his wrist.

The two medics had no problem leaving after that. Bruce, on the other hand, lingered, and Loki did not protest. He turned back to Clint, who still breathed shallowly on the table, but his sweat-dotted skin was not as gray as before and his body not as stiff and wracked in pain as it was earlier. Loki placed his uncursed hand upon the shoulder wound, trying to ignore how the black poison gnawed at his fingers, trying to find an opening. The wound was angry and bleeding, but no longer resilient against healing. Still, Clint had already lost a great deal of blood, and there was little time.

"You know how to heal this kind of wound?" said Bruce.

Loki nodded. With his free hand he dug into his pockets and pulled out a handful of healing stones. Bruce and Natasha gaped at the speckled stones bewilderedly. Clint took one look at them and groaned.

"This—better not be some stupid shiatsu treatment," he gasped out.

Loki batted him on the forehead for his impudence before swiftly crushing the stones in his hand into gritty powder. The dust sprinkled upon Clint's wound, clotting where the broken skin did not meet and sewing the wounds. Natasha's grip tightened on his elbow as Clint gave a moan of pain while the healing stone reconnected his bones, knitted his muscles, and healed his skin. Loki piled on more and more of the healing stone's remnants, watching carefully as the magic worked to its highest extent before fading into Clint's skin like snowflakes.

"Tony should get a load of this," Bruce said, his voice low.

Suddenly, a burning sensation shot up his arm and he stumbled back, the half-broken healing stones falling from his fingers. The curse was crawling up to his forearm now, still heavy and thick from his fingertips. Wherever it touched left a sensation so searing it froze him.

"Loki!" Natasha moved to wipe his arm clean, but Loki stepped away immediately, shaking his head. Drawing up his concentration he sent a jet of magic down his arm and through his fingertips, only for the spell to rebound from the curse that gloved his hand and shoot right through his veins. Regurgitated magic burned his insides on its way up and he stumbled back.

"How can we help?" said Bruce.

Loki pointed wildly to Clint.

_At least help me finish the job, you idiots!_

Bruce hesitated before giving Natasha a short nod. She did not hesitate in hurrying to Clint's side, repeating Loki's motion of breaking the stone and sprinkling the remnants onto his wound as it helped restore his blood into his veins. Loki forced himself not to watch, though the curse eating away at his hand did not feel as painful as it did before.

"What should I do? What _can _I do?" said Bruce. "Can I use something to wipe it away?"

Loki shook his head. Who knew how fast the curse would try to reach Bruce, especially if it could sense the powerful, unbelievable monster within him that broke all laws of nature—?

Loki gasped inaudibly. Of course—if anything could survive a plummet of several hundred meters, a bullet shot, and an entire invasion of Chitauri, surely a curse of this caliber would be nothing.

Not that he could count so readily on the beast, if the last time they encountered each other was when Loki was thrown against the floor. Maybe the beast could grab him by the ankles and fling him so hard that the curse would rip off of his arm.

Another jet of pain pierced through his skin and he stumbled back, flinching in pain. Bruce took a hold of his free arm quickly.

"Dammit, Loki, let me help! You're in pain," said Bruce.

_Trust me, I'm not enjoying this either._

The pain sank into his muscles so badly that his arm jerked, slamming against the wall in reflex. Bruce gave a cry of frustration.

"What the hell _is _this thing?" said Bruce.

Loki raised his eyes to Bruce's, wondering if Bruce could tell it was a curse. Judging by the green hue of his face, it mattered not what it was but the fact that it was disgusting and unappetizing—

Green hue?

Well, he never knew that the beast could be unleashed if it was angry _for _someone, now.

Loki's eyes darted toward Natasha and Clint. There was that particular risk, but surely Bruce had the beast under enough control. Both of them survived when Loki prodded the unleashing of the beast upon the helicarrier, did they not?

The curse needled at his bones, like knives against kindling, and he knew he hadn't time to lose. He dramatically slammed his arm against the wall again, falling sharply onto his knees. Bruce was at his side immediately, hands flying all about him, desperately wanting to land to help but being unable to.

"Damn this thing, it's practically eating you!" said Bruce, his voice strained. "I don't care, I'm going to get it off you—"

Green speckled Bruce's jawline and side of the neck, but the beast was not awakened yet. Bruce's hands inched closer to Loki's, barely missing the black sludge of the curse. In an attempt to move away from Bruce's unprotected touch and to goad the beast even further, Loki jerked his arm back as if the pain was too unbearable and slumped to the floor, meanwhile feeling his sense of pride diminishing at every second.

"_Loki_!" Natasha's voice.

(He didn't expect that)

But all was pushed to the side when a great roar erupted in the room. Loki raised his head barely an inch just to see the transformation. Bruce's form immediately tripled in size, rippling a mossy green that ripped his clothes to strips. His hands ballooned to nearly the size of Loki's torso and Loki swallowed down the immediately instinct of fear at the sight of the beast (he still remembered how it felt to be flung around like a doll).

The Hulk gave a monstrous roar, beating his fist against his chest, and Loki wildly wondered if perhaps he took the wrong gamble. He forced himself not to back away, like a child itching to stay still as a wild wolf eyed it ravenously, evaluating the possibility of it being prey.

_The beast is not mad at you. Maybe it was before, but not now. Stay calm. Keep breathing. Don't—_

Loki caught sight of the look on Natasha's face and a flash of uncertain regret flared in him. Clint had only seen the beast when they fought on the same side, the beast tamed and united against the same enemy, so he had no fear. But Natasha had nearly been crushed by the beast, and the fear of it still lingered in her mind. The sight of her wide blue eyes and her drawn, taut face made him berate himself unmercifully.

_Come, now, _thought Loki, gritting his teeth as he propped himself up with one elbow, trying to draw the beast's attention. The beast growled and stamped its foot, causing cracks to trickle across the floor. Loki suppressed a wince. _Come on, don't lose your focus, show your worth—_

He raised his sickly arm off the ground toward the beast. The Hulk turned swiftly toward Loki, his face distorted with its permanent anger. He bared his teeth, slamming a fist against the wall and showering Loki with plaster.

"Loki, get out of there!" said Natasha. "Get away from him, I'll hold him off!"

_But my dear, that would be terribly counter-productive._

Loki edged away from the Hulk, keeping his hand steady. The Hulk took a bow-legged step closer, his muscles swelling in his arms as if trying to force down the pent-up desire to destroy. Loki swallowed hard, hoping that the Hulk did not forget the reason why he came forth through Bruce.

In one last act, Loki squeezed his eyes shut and twisted his mouth in a silent cry, falling back and holding up his arm in a way that pointed all fingers of blame to the black curse upon it. He forced himself to seize up as if in an epileptic fit of pain, and judging by the indignant cries from Natasha, he was admirably believable.

The Hulk gave an outraged roar before reaching out and grabbing Loki roughly by the blackened forearm. Loki sucked in sharp intake of breath, the fear that his plan had gone awry racing through his mind. He braced himself for the counteraction, to be lifted off the ground and flung out the window.

Instead, the Hulk wrenched the black tar from his arm in such a brash movement that it slicked right off and nearly popped Loki's arm out of its socket in the process. He fell back as the Hulk's fingers stuck together from the resilient curse, roaring with frustration as the curse would not fall from his hand. Loki prayed that he was not wrong about the Hulk—and ultimately Bruce—having immunity to the curse.

The Hulk swung his hand, trying to shake off the stubborn curse that clung to his hand. Loki gritted his teeth before conjuring a fiery jet of magic, shooting it toward the Hulk's hand. It landed against the black sludge, searing it until it screamed like hot oil. The Hulk bayed in pain and he thrashed about, slamming against the wall and threatening to topple the ceiling. Loki swallowed hard, trying to edge away from the Hulk's reach.

The curse on his hand shriveled, shrinking in size, but it still lived on. There were scorch marks on the Hulk's wrist, but that was little compared to the potential damage the curse could place on anyone should it be given the chance. Scraping dregs from his magic reservoir, Loki flung a desperate surge of power at the Hulk's hand until it consumed the curse from his hand, taking a layer of skin in the process. With a last sputter and screech, the curse dissipated from existence.

The Hulk gave a thunderous yowl of pain. Hot burns splotched his fingers, but no trace of black lingered. Loki gave a sigh of relief and dug the one healing stone left in his pocket. Climbing to his feet, he reached out to the Hulk, but before he could crush the rock and heal his hand, the Hulk—in a fit of indignation and pain—struck Loki in the chest and sent him flying against—_through—_the wall.

Loki was no stranger to heavy blows. Heaven knows how many times Thor swung Mjölnir and hit him in the chest, sending him many leagues across the field. But to be punched in the chest and breaking through a heavily built wall before crashing against the heavily laden bookshelf of a study room was not a feeling he was ever going to get used to. The air was completely knocked out of him and he could barely gasp for breath as he fell against the floor, heavy tomes raining down on him.

Perhaps this wasn't one of his brightest ideas.

"Loki?" Natasha's voice cried out from the other room. "Loki, are you okay?"

Loki swallowed down a groan of pain as he rolled onto his back, his chest and back throbbing. The stone was still intact in his palm, at least.

He heard the roar of the Hulk in the other room and his eyes shot open immediately. Did he truly just leave Natasha and Clint in the other room defenseless with the beast (albeit unwillingly)? He pulled himself off the ground, gasping as his bruised bones refused to move properly for him. Bracing himself for the onslaught of aches, he rushed through the hole in the wall to return to the room.

The Hulk, gingerly holding up his burned hand, was towering over Clint and Natasha. Clint was still nursing his half-healed shoulder, but had pushed Natasha away from the Hulk's dangerous attention. The Hulk roared, swiping blindly to avenge his injury, nearly knocking Clint to the ground.

"Loki, throw the stone!" said Clint, raising a hand.

Loki immediately flung the stone over the Hulk's shoulder. Clint reached out and caught it, crushing it swiftly in one hand and slapping the powder on the Hulk's burns. The Hulk gave a screech at Clint's contact, but as the healing stone covered his burns and soothed the hurt, he quieted, beholding his hand astonishingly. The burns smoothed over and the angry red faded, leaving his hand as green as ever.

"Oh, thank God," Natasha said, her voice breathless.

The Hulk backed away, running his other thumb over his fully healed hand, his anger disintegrated into confusion. Loki expected the transformation before it happened; the Hulk's bulk began to skim away, his towering form shrunk, his features softened and his skin paled, until Bruce Banner stood before them, slightly disoriented but full and whole, still cradling his hand bemusedly.

"Oh God," said Clint, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I am so done."

Bruce was at a loss of words. He looked back at his hand, then to Clint and his half-healed shoulder, to Natasha who looked as if the world was just at Ragnorak's front door before miracles saved it from ultimate destruction, then to Loki, who was somehow still holding himself upright on both feet.

"The curse—that sludge monster—" said Bruce.

"It's gone," said Natasha. "Loki burned it off of the other guy."

Bruce turned reproachfully to Loki.

"You brought out the other guy on purpose, didn't you?" said Bruce.

Loki gave a weak smile.

"You son of a bitch," Bruce said before giving a groan of exasperated relief.

Loki nearly laughed, except his ribs suddenly ached and he stumbled back, falling against the wall. Natasha was at his side immediately, supporting him on his feet. Her hands pressed against his injured ribs and for a moment Loki forgot that they hurt.

"Oh damn, I'm sorry," said Bruce. "Shit—oh my word—I ruined this whole place. Are you okay? Did I break bones? Natasha? Clint?"

"I am a thousand percent done with the wackos in this tower," Clint said, rubbing his forehead.

"I'm so sorry," said Bruce. He helped ease Loki to the ground, feeling his battered ribs. "There isn't anything broken—thank goodness you Asgardians have bones of steel—my word, Loki, couldn't there have been any other way of going about this without all the risk?"

Did Bruce think that Loki was known to be the difficult trickster for no reason?

"You guys are freaking crazy," Clint said, his voice muffled with his hand. "Holy shit, I can move my hand. I can—oh my God."

He raised his arm, wincing when the still sore muscle twang uncomfortably. The look on his face was a mixture of jubilation and shock as he rubbed his intact shoulder. He looked at Loki, eyes wide.

"You—Holy crap," said Clint.

Loki couldn't help but smile wryly. Clint's way of expressing thanks was amusing. He wished he could laugh.

"How the hell does no one come around with the other guy smashing about?" said Natasha, pulling Loki's arm around her shoulders. Loki tried to pull away (he was bruised, not paraplegic) but her grip was iron-tight as if to punish him for putting himself on the line.

"Soundproof walls, remember?" Clint said.

"New rule," said Bruce, still distraught. "Never—ever—try to bring out the other guy on purpose again."

Loki shook his head and grinned. So much for a soft side.

(In his chest, Loki did not notice. Underneath his ribs, where the Hulk's fist collided, the Mind Gem shuddered. A hair-thin ridge trickled down its surface, as long as a splinter.

A crack)


	27. Chapter 27

**Hey buds, I haven't had the chance to really sit down and work on revising/editing this chapter, so I apologize if there are any mistakes or inconsistencies. I do try my best, but sometimes a lot of details just slip my attention. I hope you enjoy it; I enjoyed writing Loki feels at 1 in the morning...brace yourselves for next chapter though. It is 100% feels and 95% of them are not positive. **

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There were many rooms in Stark Tower, though none of them were designed specifically to imprison an alien guilty of espionage and murder—the den's floor seemed to have worked well enough on Loki last time. At least, that was what Tony claimed.

So why Tony had a room whose walls, ceiling, and floor looked like pure sheet metal with no reflection and the light so blindingly white and unmerciful, Loki did not understand. Only the fact that the epitome of imprisonment seemed to rebound off the smooth metal until it sent shivers down Loki's spine.

The spy was bound with metal upon a chair in the middle of the room, far from any possible advantage. Its magic was bound to keep it from shape-shifting and its weapons stripped and deposited in Tony's lab. It had no awakened yet—Tony had given it a tremendous hit in the head not too long ago—but the sight of it was still foreboding, as if it would raise its head and lunge at them any moment now, if they weren't careful.

They should have killed it when they had the chance.

"Is there some sort of Geneva Code for this?" said Tony, leaning against the slick wall. Loki realized that there were inexplicable scorch marks upon the metal, the surface curdled as if solid yet boiling. "Are there laws about how to treat a prisoner if they're from another freaking planet?"

"I don't think it's supposed to make a difference," said Steve. He was equipped with a gun to steady the spy should it go renegade, but he seemed reluctant to have it in his hands. "Living creatures are living, whether they're human or not."

"This doesn't even look human," said Tony.

"Just because he _looks_ like our kind of a monster doesn't mean he isn't like a human," said Steve.

"Maybe," said Tony. "Then again, just because someone's human doesn't make them a monster."

Loki averted his gaze, their words tumbling like a twister in his head. But what did humans such as Tony and Steve know about monsters when all they knew were of their own race and the spurts of Chitauri interaction in their lives? Nothing.

"And another thing—how do you know it's a male?" said Tony. "What if this is their version of a female? Or maybe they have no genders?"

"Because calling him an 'it' is unfair," said Steve.

"Listen, Spangles, your nineteen-forties charm is starting to run a little thin," said Tony. He tossed a taser from one hand to the other, in case the gun wasn't useful enough for them.

The door opened, a crack on the brilliant metal sliding apart to reveal the outside hallway. Thor came in, his face lined with gaunt worry. His blue eyes landed on the Chitauri prisoner and anger visibly etched itself on his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" said Thor. "Our comrades return and Clint injured grievously, Natasha speechless, and Loki's magic weakened, and now we have one of the enemy in our midst?"

"He's a prisoner," said Steve. "We wanted to question him about what the Chitauri were doing…what Thanos was doing."

Thor nodded, but seemed unconvinced. He turned to Loki. "Are you all right, brother?"

Loki waved a hand indifferently, still keeping a hand on his old scepter. He did not risk putting on the arc reactor, not when so much stress was thrumming through the tower, but he could feel his magic course through him a little more smoothly with the added magical stimulant in his hands.

"Banner only told me so much of what has occurred," said Thor. "What exactly had transpired? How did the Chitauri know to infiltrate there?"

"Spies learn a lot when given the time," said Tony. "I should know. Freaking Natasha pulled one over me for who knows how long that one time."

"But it doesn't make sense why they chose to infiltrate SHIELD," said Steve. "I feel like it shouldn't have been hard for them to figure out where Loki really was, if they were there for long. Especially if one of them was impersonating Vulk."

"It wasn't impersonating Vulk for that long," said Tony. "Vulk was only dead for several hours when they found her. They must have been lying low…or else, they weren't there for a long time at all."

"But did they have a motive in SHIELD?" said Thor. "Were they trying to accomplish two things at once? Find Loki—and perhaps something else?"

"And why Vulk?" said Steve. "Why not another agent? Did they choose randomly, or did they want the same thing we want?"

Tony grimaced. "You don't mean…"

"What if they too wanted something with the scepter?" said Steve.

Loki looked down at the golden staff in his hand. No—it had to be the real one. He felt its familiarity underneath his fingers, heavy as extravagant rings. No imitation could achieve that.

"But they didn't take it," said Thor.

"What if they knew that Loki needed it, so they tampered with it?" said Tony. "What if there's some tracking voodoo on it, or some curse? I don't know how this stupid magic works but it sure looks like it could do harmful shit."

Thor's eyes widened. "Loki, put the scepter down. Quickly!"

Loki shot a look of skepticism at Thor. This was _his _staff, and shouldn't he know if it had been manipulated?

"But they want to take Loki, not kill him and let him die somewhere where they don't know," said Steve. "They want the Mind Gem from him."

"What if the staff magnifies the Mind Gem in him and makes it easier for Thanos to look through his head?" said Tony. "Like some magical satellite?"

"He can achieve that even without a staff," said Steve. "Whether or not we use it, we're pretty much screwed, unless you can make up your own staff and let Loki use that instead of this one."

"Fine, but I need to study that staff to understand the physics of the thing to replicate my own. Loki, give it to Steve. I doubt he can ever be impure. No, don't hand it to me, I don't like being handed things."

Loki tightened his grip around the scepter. He wished they could know just how ridiculous they were being, but when Steve held out his hand patiently, he reluctantly shoved it into Steve's grip. He felt the magical flow slow immediately and his mood soured.

"What is this room used for?" said Thor. "I don't see why you would have such a soulless room in your tower, Stark."

Tony glanced at one of the scorch marks. "Sometimes it feels nice to have a room where you can destroy things and not actually break anything, you know?"

Before any of the others could speak, the Chitauri spy began to stir in its place. To see sign of life within that alien made Loki freeze in his spot, his heart skipping a beat before racing feverishly. He held the scepter tighter, willing himself to keep his breathing level. To keep his head level.

The others were just as tense, holding aloft the taser and handgun respectively. Thor made no sign of hiding the fact that he had Mjölnir in his reach, stepping forward before all of them with his mighty hammer. When the spy raised its head, it leered at the Avengers before it, namely Thor who was the clearest in its line of vision. It twisted its limbs bound with the chains, calculating its situation in those black eyes.

"Ah," said the spy, its voice rasping. "So I finally get to acquaint myself with the infamous warriors of the galaxies."

"Hold your tongue unless it is an answer to our inquiries," said Thor. "You have caused enough damage upon this innocent realm."

"Innocence," said the spy. "Thor Odinson, is it? There is much talk about you, how you swooped down to our lonely star and dragged Laufeyson from our ownership for your own pleasure. They eventually found out it was you, of course. You leave the stench of Jotun bloodshed."

"Your insults are centuries too old," said Thor. "You did not seem to find me very easily, as it would have been to your advantage if you did so, if you so claim to be adept in sniffing me out. Was I too masked with the smell of Chitauri blood?"

"You truly are as brutal as the bards have depicted you to be," said the spy. "Surely you remember them? The ballads that they spin of your brave genocide and massacres?"

"Let me know the name of the one that so easily disputes mine," said Thor. "Unless you insist on flyting one-sidedly."

"You may address me as Gath, Asgardian," said Gath. "I look forward to this banter with the famously dimwitted golden prince."

Loki bristled behind Thor; he was, after all, the only one allowed to insult Thor's intelligence.

He was secretly glad that Thor stood in front of him, not because he thought he needed Thor's physical protection, but that someone could stand in his line of vision—that he didn't need to see any of those creatures.

"Gath," said Thor. "You infiltrated Midgard's defenses, murdered one of their kind, and tortured our comrade. What is your reasoning?"

"You don't possibly expect me to answer you so bluntly, do you?" said Gath.

"Let me take care of this," said Tony, nudging Thor aside. Thor did not take the hint to move him aside, so Tony stood beside him. "Listen…Gath. Something tells me you know the whole shebang about prisoners and trying to torture information out of them. So this is all probably not really new."

"Not particularly," said Gath.

"And you—being this strapping officer—" The sarcasm was dripping so generously from Tony's voice that Loki could practically feel it collect in a puddle at his feet. "—wouldn't be so soft to break from torture, if we chose it."

"Not like some," said Gath. Loki's bottom jaw twitched.

"But who are we kidding?" said Tony. "I dunno much about Chitauri but if they were so invincible then they would have had a much easier time taking over New York City instead of being shot down by six people. Five of them being mortals, in fact."

"The Frost Giant was a failure of a commander," said Gath. "It did not deserve the knowledge of the Tesseract nor the scepter in its hand, and especially not the breath in its lungs."

"Have care of how you speak!" said Thor, a growl ripping his throat. "You dare let one slip against my brother go past your lips, you will sorely regret it."

"I think I enjoy blaspheming the trickster god too much to ever regret it," said Gath. "Though, is it truly blaspheming if it isn't even a god? Just a Jotun monster that ought to be slain. That is what you said yourself, isn't it?"

"You know nothing," said Thor.

"Oh, do I?" said Gath. "After all, for those centuries that I had the displeasure of listening to that bastard runt scream, don't you think I would have heard a confession or two?"

Loki started forward sharply before Steve grabbed his arm to hold him back. Thor flashed a sidelong glance to Loki, the confusion and sorrow evident in those eyes.

"That's enough," said Tony. "You and your—people—have been sneaking around our place, blowing shit up, and now you're planning on blowing up the entire universe. Forgive us if we don't really adhere to that plan, but we've got a schedule to follow all our own as well."

"You really think a little information will stop Thanos?" said Gath. "You are beyond foolish and naïve. Your arrogance is certainly rivaling that of the thunder god here."

"You should keep your flattery to yourself," said Tony. "And you shouldn't underestimate information. Isn't that what Thanos is trying to use, after all? With Loki and that Mind Gem in his chest, tapping into his senses to get a feel of everything?"

"So mortals can comprehend the Mind Gem's powers?" said Gath.

"Again, shouldn't underestimate," said Tony.

"If you're so good at deducing, you really needn't keep me around. You could solve the puzzle yourself," Gath said with a sneer.

"Why waste a good opportunity?" said Tony.

"You so ignorantly believe that you have the abilities to force speech from a silenced tongue," said Gath. "That hasn't worked so swimmingly with your resident dumb beast."

"That's _enough,_" said Tony. Loki had never heard Tony speak so roughly before. "I'll have you know that I specialize in the building of weapons. I know exactly how to hurt, how to maim, how to kill. And there are master assassins in this building who make a living out of making people scream. You will talk and you will cooperate."

"Ah, mortals in their full glory," said Gath. "Your little archer seemed rather indignant about the treatment he received, yet his kind will not hesitate to do the same. Mortals do a wonderful job at treating each other without violence as well, aren't they? Midgard's deeds do not go unnoticed."

"We aren't saying we're better than you," said Steve.

"Although it's definitely on our mind," Tony interrupted.

"But our people's safety is on the line because of you and your boss," Steve said, shooting a sharp glance at Tony. "And there's not a lot we aren't willing to do to protect them."

"And you're doing a remarkable job," said Gath as he sneered. "How is your little archer, anyway? I left him something to remember me by."

"He's perfectly fine and healing now," said Steve.

"And if you think you can get away with hurting him like that," said Tony, "you've got another thing coming at you."

"Oh, you believe you have the power to break my mind with your petty blows?" said Gath. Its black eyes darted to Loki; he stiffened at the attention. "Well, I'll say. What little credit you give me, to think that a bit of pain you mere mortals can inflict on me will batter me. That wasn't what tortured little Laufeyson here, and what Laufeyson has been through is merely child's play to us. Shall I tell you what broke it?"

"Don't listen to him, Loki," Steve said quietly the moment Loki took a sharp intake of breath. "He's trying to rile you. Don't listen to him. He's just trying to make himself feel on top. Don't let him in."

"Laufeyson was forced to swallow down the waste of its superiors," said Gath. "It hung by its entrails from a spike above fire and melted like a mere object. It moaned and sniveled and whimpered for trivial comforts. And Lord Thanos, how unfortunate he was that he had to replace his love for Lady Death with something so disgusting and worthless, he took Laufeyson and consumed it, _fucked_ it until it—"

Before Loki knew it, his own fingers were wrapped around Gath's neck, all his anger shoved into his hands to press against its throat. He felt Gath's breath flail underneath his palm and he burned, _he was on fire. _Someone poured oil into his veins and set his blood on fire and his anger consumed it, burned his skin, ravaged him—

"Loki, don't!" Steve's hands grabbed Loki's arms and tried to drag him back. Loki wrenched his arms away from Steve and struck Gath's face again—again—again—knocking the words out of Gath's mouth, knocking the memories, hitting—

Steve wrapped his arms around Loki and pulled him back, ensuring that Loki couldn't fight back. Loki stumbled into Steve, breathing heavily as his mind spun, _exploded_, in his head while Gath laughed wheezily in the background, blood pouring from its orifice. He felt as if he could breathe fire.

He caught the sight of the look on Thor's face and he wanted to die that very moment. Erase his existence from everyone's mind, from the universe, everything—he couldn't stand it.

"Thor," said Tony, putting a firm hand on Thor's shoulder. "Thor, don't—"

"How dare you," said Thor, his voice uncharacteristically calm and steady. Loki closed his eyes—it was when Thor acted absolutely unaffected and tranquil that he was the angriest, most vengeful. "How dare your kind _touch _my brother in such a way, how dare you impugn his honor, how dare you hurt him, _how dare you!_"

Loki launched himself from Steve's arms and held back Thor before Thor could come closer to Gath. He buried his face into Thor's back, tightening his arms around Thor and willing he not make a move, willing that he didn't care about what happened to Loki, willing that he forget so that Loki could forget because if Thor—if Thor of all people knew, if Thor of all people acted upon this, then Loki couldn't stand it, couldn't handle it.

Somewhere in the tangle, Steve led Loki and Thor out of the room, out of the metal cage that let Loki's memories bounce against the walls and reverberate with volume. He stumbled away from Thor, pressing his hands against the sides of his heads, trying to keep from hyperventilating. He didn't know what Thor did behind him, but he couldn't let himself turn around and face him. Face the truth, face that reality.

Why did they have to bring Gath to the tower? Why couldn't they just kill it?

_Why couldn't they just kill it?_

He felt a hand touch his shoulder and he sucked in a deep breath. He spun around, knocking the hand away only to be face-to-face with Thor. He stepped back, setting his jaw until his teeth hurt. He hid his shaking hand. How weak he must be, to be so emotionally compromised, to have let himself be ravaged by the war titan. How weak how weak how _weak._

"Loki," Thor said.

Don't say anything. Please. Please don't say anything.

Thor took Loki's trembling hand, and Loki pulled it away, pushing Thor swiftly. He didn't need Thor's comfort, his mollycoddling, his sympathy, any of it. He was beyond that pain, that humiliation. He was beyond it, beyond it, it was over, too late, because his insides were scarred and filthy, too late, his heart was irreparable, he was dying and there was nothing, it was too late because he couldn't let it hurt anymore he couldn't he couldn't he couldn't.

Thor cradled Loki's face with both of his hands, and Loki realized that tears were welling dangerously in Thor's eyes. He felt his throat burn. Thor shouldn't cry because of this. Thor shouldn't need to, because Loki was _stronger_ than this, he was _better_ than this, he couldn't afford to remember it anymore.

But Loki couldn't pull himself from his brother's hands, those gentle hands that Loki knew would never touch him in any way that Thanos ever did. He could never tell Thor that he feared Thanos, not because of the disastrous plan Thanos would wreak on all living creatures, not because of the torturous words and sneers that rang in his mind, not the possibility of giving up the entire realm to Thanos through his eyes, but because Thanos' love and Thanos' passion was what ruined him, was what made Loki quake in his bones, was what made Loki want to turn himself inside out and throw in boiling water.

"Brother, it was never your fault," said Thor. "It was never you."

Thor did not know. Thor was not there to see. Thor did not see how uselessly Loki hid himself. Thor did not see how weakly he fought when Thanos took hold of him. Thor did not see how Loki gave up underneath Thanos, gave up as he swallowed and vomited, gave up as he fell in a heap covered in a baby's blood and waited to die.

"Listen to me, Loki," Thor said. His voice was thick, and Loki tried not to notice the shaking. "Listen to me. You are whole, you are alive, you are safe, and you are not tainted. Do you hear me? Loki, I've failed to protect you, to take care of you, time and time again, but—" Thor's voice caught him and he had to fight for breath, to regain his voice.

Loki put his hands on Thor's wrists and he wished Thor would just _stop. _Just stop and please, please just hold him, please don't think him disgusting or vile, please forget the battled and poisoned insides, forget the Jotun lurking in his skin, forget everything, please just _hold him_—but he would never ask, never say, never let Thor know. Shame bottled up inside of him and he wished he was nothing.

But then Loki realized—realized that Thor wasn't looking at him. Instead, he looked at the floor, and Loki was seized with fear. Was Thor so disgusted that he couldn't even bring himself to look at Loki anymore? Loki reached out and lifted Thor's head up before he froze.

Thor was crying.

Loki didn't know what to do. He rarely saw Thor cry. Perhaps when he told him that Odin had died, or that time when they were very young and he accidentally (or perhaps not so accidentally as he claimed) drowned Thor's pet hawk, but those were so long ago, and these were so different tears. His shoulders shook but he made no sound as tears streamed down his face as if he had been broken, as if someone took his mighty hammer and slammed it against his heart.

_Why? _said Loki's hands as they roughly wiped Thor's tears away. _Why is this so sad to you? Are you angry, ashamed—?_

The tears would not stop and Thor put his hands on Loki's, keeping him from wiping them away. Loki put his hands on Thor's shoulders and shook them gently as if to break Thor back into reality.

_I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean to I should have I could have I would have forgive me why why why why—?_

"Oh, Loki," said Thor, his voice thick. He knew Loki without him needing to say a word. "I'm crying _for_ _you_."

The words struck him.

Loki made Thor cry. The past and only two times was because of him. But not like this. Not like this.

That Thor's heart would break because Loki's has, that Thor would suffer through what Loki had, that Thor would have that _compassion_ and take upon his heart the troubles that he never needed to face. That Loki surely never asked him to bear. And yet he took it upon himself anyway, as if he could carry some of Loki's burden and save a half of Loki's broken heart in exchange for his own.

What would possess a man to do such a thing?

_(Is that love, Silvertongue?)_

And for some reason, from an instinct Loki could not name, he laughed.

Threw his head back and laughed—still silent, still soundless—but he laughed and grinned and it was far from madness. Laughed because Thor—oh, brother Thor—was the biggest, sweetest idiot in all of the Nine Realms, that he loved so much that it hurt him, that he would cry for the Liesmith when none would dare even if it meant saving his life. Laughed because—because—oh, wasn't it foolish, to cry about what has passed? To cry when it would heal no wounds, wash no stains, satisfy no parched tongue?

But tears streamed down his big brother's face and Loki could only hold him tight, running his fingers through Thor's hair and rubbing circles on his back like Frigga once did when they were upset. Whisper words of 'it's all right' and 'shhh now' with his fingertips. Tell him, thank you. I'm sorry. Thank you.

And for the first time, in that moment, he realized—

He need not fear Thanos in his nightmares anymore. Not when he was never alone.


	28. Chapter 28

**I noticed that the amount of times I allude to Doctor Who in this story is steadily rising. Strangely enough, I don't watch Doctor Who. Thank you Tumblr for educating me on shows I don't understand.**

**I wrote a oneshot on FFNet if anyone's interested!**

**I apologize for the last chapter, as I should have made a trigger warning for its darker content. It had completely slipped my mind to do so. However, because of personal reasons I hesitate to change the rating to M. If it helps, the worst has already passed and the rest of the story, while I can't say will not be dark, ought to be a lot less crass/graphic.**

**As I look more and more into a career of arts, I realize just how rare it is for anyone to actually they their work published or their arts enjoyed and that even on a website the amount of enthusiasm from readers is rare. Thank you all so much for taking the time and effort to read this story. I don't know if I'll ever have readers as generous and kind as you all are ever again, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you all. You make all this writing worthwhile. **

**A chapter full of all the feels. Whether good feels or bad feels, that's up to you to decide. Enjoy~**

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"You think I can buy these wholesale?"

Natasha smirked, applying a bandage over Clint's shoulder. The wound was healed, but it still bled when Clint moved it too sharply. Which was something he was prone to do; injury was never able to pin Clint down.

"I don't think you can get a prescription for healing stones here," said Natasha.

"They're freaking useful," said Clint, rolling his shoulder to test its movement. He winced when his arm stung. Natasha punched him lightly on the knee.

"No moving," said Natasha. "Thank God it's not infected until inoperable, but for goodness' sake, you aren't in tip-top shape yet."

"Yes, Mother," said Clint.

"Thank God Loki got that...infection out of you," said Natasha, grimacing at the memory. "If no one figured it out, who knows what would have happened?"

Clint gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah. I guess so." He looked up to Natasha, hastily changing the subject from Loki. "What about you ? Are you injured?"

"This is the fourth time you've asked me," said Natasha.

"Is it?" said Clint.

"O ye of little faith," said Natasha. "I kept myself safe, Clint. I'm _fine_. What's with the worry?"

"Am I not allowed to? This is a free country."

"That doesn't mean it's a silly one." Natasha shrugged. "I told you. I got into a little skirmish with the Chitauri when I met up with Loki, and after that there was nothing. Didn't see anything going on until Loki came back with the staff and we found you together."

"A skirmish with the Chitauri isn't something to overlook," said Clint.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" said Natasha. "There were only about…three, maybe. Three or four."

"Yeah? Well I got beat up by one," said Clint.

"That's different. He strung you like a fish on a hook. Even Thor would probably have a hard time with that."

"I don't know," said Clint. "Damn…I admire those POWs in past wars that have to withstand months or even years of torture for information. I don't know how they do it."

The corner of Natasha's lips curled. "A damn good drive."

"Where can I buy one of those?" said Clint.

Natasha chuckled and sat down opposite of Clint. When she looked up, she saw the pensive glaze in his eyes and she quieted.

"Something the matter?" she said.

"No," said Clint.

Natasha leaned forward. "Don't try to pull that on me."

"It's nothing, I'm serious," said Clint.

Natasha pursed her lips.

"Clint," she said. Her voice was gentle.

"It just scares me," said Clint, "how close I was to telling the Chitauri—to telling Gath—everything. Again."

"Again?" said Natasha.

"It's always me," Clint said with an exasperated laugh. "First Loki messed around with my loyalties and I spilled everything I knew about the Avengers and SHIELD to him. Now Gath for some reason thought I was the perfect candidate to string up and demand information from. Do I look like someone that easily spills? Are my weaknesses—I don't know—a lot more prominent than others?"

"You know that's not the case," said Natasha.

"Is it really?" said Clint. "How can you be so sure about that?"

Natasha hesitated before sitting up straight.

"What did Gath try to do to you?" she said. "I know something more than just physical torture went on in that room."

Clint closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "I'd rather not say."

Natasha felt a pang in her heart. "Clint—"

"I'd rather not say because I was compromised," said Clint. "And—honestly—I don't know. I don't think you'd want to hear."

"Why wouldn't I want to hear?" said Natasha.

"Because I'm embarrassed? I'm scared? I'm confused?" said Clint. He rubbed the side of his head tiredly. "And I don't know—I'm afraid of compromising more than just me. That it would come between us."

"Ah," said Natasha.

Curiosity was a witch, that even though she wanted to respect Clint's privacy, let him come out on his own time, she itched to know what it was he hid from her. Unsurprising, as she was a spy, and she spent her entire life craving the secrets of others so she could suck them dry.

But that wasn't the case here, not with Clint. She wanted his trust, his assurance. That he would tell her because he wasn't afraid.

"You know how the Chitauri can shape-shift and all that?" said Clint. "How they can make themselves look like however they want?"

"Yes," said Natasha.

"That's how Gath got me. He shape-shifted to look like Vulk, even though he killed her secretly. Not that we knew until Tony informed us. He pretended to help me and led me to the room, and then attacked me. So there's strike one."

Natasha listened silently. Clint would not look at her, instead fascinating himself with a tile on the floor. She wished she could take his hand comfortingly, or wrap her arm around his shoulders, but something held her back, telling her to wait. Not yet.

"Strike two, after Gath got the notion I wasn't going to talk anytime soon," he said, "it turned out he had a lackey or two with him."

"What did they do?" Natasha said, her heart skipping a beat anxiously.

"They—they—look, Nat," Clint said tiredly. "Whatever I say, please—I don't want it to come between us, okay? Don't judge yet, don't react yet…just hear me out."

Natasha hesitated, but acquiesced with a nod. Very little could shake Clint, and the fact that he was tentative to tell her, the fact that he was afraid she would_ judge _him of all people, made her apprehensive.

"One of them—I don't know how they knew, or anything—shape-shifted to look like you," said Clint. "Except you looked beaten up, with an inch of your life left…and they were threatening me with you—it—him. That if I didn't tell them where Loki was, or hand him over, they would hurt you even further. Even violate you. And that if I did tell…we'd be spared. You, me, the other Avengers—I don't know. That's what Gath said."

Natasha felt a cold rush surge through her insides. She couldn't imagine how it was for Clint to see her at such a weakened state. It was expected of them, as master assassins, to keep up an emotional barrier that such a threat would not topple their plan, but Clint and Natasha both knew that should the situation come that the other was used as a bargaining chip, to cave to the enemy was painfully, desperately tempting.

"I thought it really was you," said Clint. "I thought you really were beat up and hurt, and I wanted to tell. I so wanted to tell, just to get you out of this."

"How'd you know it wasn't me?" said Natasha.

"Induction," said Clint.

"You're hiding more than that," said Natasha.

Clint sighed and closed his eyes. "I mentioned Loki being in the building and it was confused. As if it didn't know Loki was with us—and I'm guessing none of them did know, or else there would be no point in getting information out of me. And—I confirmed it myself. I made it say things to me that I knew you wouldn't say."

"What would that be?" said Natasha.

Clint pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. "I got you—it—to say that you loved me."

Something in Natasha fell. Whether it was her mind, spirit, or heart, she couldn't tell. Part of her wished to congratulate Clint for his quick thinking, for pulling himself out of temptation, but the other part was muddled, shaken, confused. With the fact that Clint had someone asked her—it—if she loved him. The fact that Clint thought she would never say 'I love you' to him, or perhaps anyone.

It was probably the truth, she knew—that she would never say it—but to hear such a thing hurt.

Perhaps she would never say it, as speaking of vulnerability was not a part of her special skill set, but she could still _do _it, couldn't she?

Couldn't she?

"You do know me well," Natasha said, her voice thin.

Clint grunted. "And then the rest of the story is pretty self-explanatory. Nat, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Natasha said. "Really. Don't be sorry for getting out _alive_, for goodness' sake."

"If I made this awkward—if I put you on the spot and I shouldn't have—"

"Don't say these things," said Natasha. "I'm glad you told me the truth. I'm glad, I am. I just…"

She thought of how long she and Clint had worked together, been together, done everything together. Of their secrets and tears that crossed between them. The long, black nights that they stayed up together, trying to tell each other what was on their hearts—she, of her past, and he, of his nightmares—and instead stumbling over words and potholes until both of them were still lost in their guilt and uncertainty. How they knew each other so thoroughly that an imposter could make them both afraid and suspicious. How they were everything for each other for so long.

"Did you ask me—it—if I loved you, for a reason?" she said.

Clint opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to line his words in a perfect row so that they would tumble like a landslide of truth out of his mouth.

"I do love you, Nat," he said quietly. "I love you in that I care about you, that I'd die for you. That I want you to be happy, to be safe and whole. That I don't ever want to leave or lose you. And for a moment, for some time in between when we first met and now, I think I _did _love you in a way that was more than all that—that was romantic, or deep, or something more than just love. I know I did."

Natasha could barely breathe. She felt her blood rushing through every inch of her, making her aware of the heavily beating heart, the constricted lungs, the whirring of her mind.

"But," said Clint, and he couldn't look at any part of her now. "But—I realized that there was something amiss. I wanted to be your other half, to make you whole, but now I see that I can't. And honestly, you couldn't be that for me either, if you wanted to. All through our trials and uncertainties and pain, we were there for each other. But we could never fix each other, even though we've tried so hard. We tried and we tried but there is always something missing, something that couldn't fit. It's like we're trying to fit ourselves in each other's keyholes to our hearts, or souls, or something, but we were never right to unlock them. I wasn't meant for you, and I don't think you were meant for me."

Natasha closed her eyes, her thoughts flowing from raging whirlwind to soft seas, ebbing, soothing. She tried to understand, only to realize that she already did. That in the end, no matter how much they cared for each other, it didn't mean they were perfect for each other. There were parts of Clint that she could not heal, solely because she was who she was, and there were parts of herself that Clint could not help her with. They were different in such a way that they could be each other's everything and still not be enough. They were everything the other person would ever want, but they weren't what the other person needed.

"Thank you for telling me, Clint," she said, her voice small. She smiled, and she meant it. "I love you just as you love me. I care about you too. I want you to be happy, at peace, one hundred percent, and I know that I can't bring you there. But there is someone out there, there _is,_ and when you finally found that person I will be the happiest person alive."

"And when you find your own, I'll take him to a nice, shadowy, locked room and threaten him to do right or else I'll kill him slowly, intimately, in every way he fears."

"Oh God, Clint," said Natasha, her voice choked with laughter, before she embraced him tightly. If she hurt his shoulder in the process, he made no indication that she did, and he held her just as firmly. "Aren't you glad you told me and got that off of your chest?"

"Damn you, Natasha," said Clint, gripping her close. "Damn you."

* * *

The bourbon burned Tony's tongue, nearly setting his mouth on fire. He grimaced and pushed the half-full cup away. He hated drinking when he was stressed—it reminded him of Howard. But if the world didn't want alcoholics, why did they make alcoholic feel so cleansing? As if the burning sensation would sear away all impurities inside. Sometimes it was a mystery why the world wasn't yet divided between the religious and the alcoholics.

"Four hours," said Tony.

Steve looked up tiredly at Tony.

"Four hours is too damn long to spend with that damn reptile," said Tony.

"We got something out of him, at least," said Steve, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, the fact that Thanos plans to destroy the world starting with either Earth or somewhere else, as if we didn't know _that _before," said Tony. "I thought the whole being in love with Death part sort of gave that away for us already."

"Soldiers will never willingly give up information. Even torture would not be fail-safe. And it's wrong."

"It's still an option," said Tony. "I know, I know—" He raised a hand to stop Steve from interrupting. "Even if this—Gath—isn't human, he is still a living creature that shouldn't be tortured, and we shouldn't be those hypocrites. But what are we left with? Counting to three? A truth serum? Releasing him back to the wild now that he kind of already knows where Loki is and can use the information against us?"

"Pain doesn't—"

"Pain does a lot. Trust me," said Tony. He rubbed his arms. "And—hell, even if it doesn't get him to talk, it'll get him to—to—"

Tony groaned and took another gulp of his alcohol. Steve scrutinized him concernedly.

"What's eating you, Tony?" said Steve.

"Nothing's eating me," said Tony.

"Look, I may be somewhat naïve about things, but I'm not stupid," said Steve. "I know something's bothering you."

Tony rubbed his face tiredly. "I just feel like shit."

"Well, you have downed a lot of alcohol."

"You heard what Gath said," said Tony. "What he said about how Thanos treated Loki. Thanos raped Loki. He _raped _Loki, who knows how many times. Did you see Loki's reaction? Did you hear Thor crying outside the door? And I almost didn't want to help Loki. I almost said, no, get the hell off our planet. He went through all that and I was going to slam the door in his face."

Tony closed his eyes and downed the rest of his drink. It was likes swallowing lava and he felt his throat blister—it was a grudgingly satisfying sensation. He could only imagine the look on Loki's face if Tony shut the door in his face before Loki could ask for help. He felt like sludge clogged his veins.

"I know you feel guilty, Tony," said Steve. "But that wasn't what happened. You _did _help Loki. We all did. And look where we are—we care about him. It's crazy, admitting it, but that's what happened, and I don't think any of us regret it."

"But he's not helped," said Tony. "He's not—he's not right yet. He's not fixed. I bet he still gets nightmares—I know I did after I went through Afghanistan, and that was nothing compared to Thanos. And the fact is, he can't _talk _about it. I can pour out my heart to Pepper if I want to, or Rhodey, or even JARVIS if I'm drunk and desperate, but this guy's mute—whether it's because he chooses to be or because something messed with him so badly that he can't make a sound, I don't know—but he can't let anything out."

"You talk as if he hasn't got a lot of hope," said Steve.

"Hell, I don't know," said Tony. "He sure won't be back to normal. I don't even know if I ever knew what normal for Loki was, if the whole bag full of cats Loki we knew three years ago was not who he truly was before."

"Suffering makes people change," said Steve. "I won't pretend that isn't the case. But that doesn't mean suffering breaks people permanently. If we leave it at that, if we don't try, if we don't care, then sure, it'll lead to a lot of brokenness. But that won't be the case. Not for him."

"Are you going to try to preach to me?" said Tony.

"No," said Steve. "I'm telling you what I know. You don't think that all that you've done, by interacting with him and befriending him, will help him? The better times in life don't cancel out the bad times—life isn't solely a mathematical equation or chemistry problem—but that doesn't make them worthless or less wonderful. Just as bad times don't cancel out the good."

Tony peered at Steve grudgingly over his class cup. Talking about life with Steve was never always a progressive one, considering how drastically different their approach to the mysteries of time and space were from each other. Yet he felt drawn to Steve's word, as if something about it tempted him by how promising it sounded and kept him from trying to dissect the logic from his thought process.

"It just seems screwed up," said Tony, "that anyone has to deal with those—things—in their life and then some, and that they still have a load of suffering ahead of them. Hell—" He gave a snort and ruffled his hair. "Everyone, really. Everyone goes through shit, and everyone has more shit to swim through even after they get through one trial. No one gets a break, unless they kick it."

"Well, think of it this way," said Steve. "Everyone goes through moments of happiness in their lives, and nothing's stopping more good times to come by."

"All right, Mr. Sunshine," said Tony. "Your sugar coating is getting too much for me. Even Bambi's sugar tooth might not be able to handle it."

Steve's face sobered. "Loki was never really the same after that incident at SHIELD."

"I know," said Tony. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I definitely knew. He's become…even more unpredictable. And volatile. But part of me wonders if it had anything to do with Thanos coming into his mind not that long afterward."

"You mean, like a symptom of Thanos prodding into his mind?" said Steve.

"It's a complete guess," said Tony. "But even then…something just tells me he's never been emotionally or mentally stable this whole time. It's sort of hard to judge when something goes from bad to worse."

"I wish I could understand him," said Steve. "Like you, or Thor, or Natasha. You guys seem to be able to read him really well, and I just have no idea what he's trying to communicate."

"Not everyone can be one hundred percent perfect at everything," said Tony with an ironic wink.

"That isn't the case. I'm far from perfect," said Steve. "I'm just a guy with a shield."

"Yeah, yeah, keep staying saintly and modest," said Tony. He made to take another swig of his drink, only to remember that his cup was empty.

"Who's guarding Gath right now?" said Steve.

"Er, JARVIS?" said Tony.

"Is that safe?"

"JARVIS is perfectly adequate, thanks," said Tony. "Besides, Gath has no armor, no weapons, his magic bound, zip. And he's locked up with my technology."

"I can't say I consider that foolproof."

"I can't say I can take that as a compliment," said Tony, shrugging. He shook his head. "We should have never brought him. I don't know what Natasha was thinking. If we even do get information out of the guy, what then? Do we just keep him in a box and try to make a compromise with Thanos? That's a laugh. Return him to the other side? If anything, everyone would be dead. Kill him? Some alien form of the Geneva Code will get our asses."

"We might as well take advantage of the situation," said Steve. "So long as he doesn't have some ulterior motive staying here."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he does," said Tony. "JARVIS, do I have any more alcohol in a five foot radius around me?"

"_I'm afraid the closest drink is seven point five feet away from you."_

"Dammit. Dummy. Dummy, get the drink for me."

The robot wheeled itself to the cupboard before crashing its head into the faucet.

"Stupid idiot, you're going to the science museum."

"Speaking of which, where's everyone?" said Steve.

"I'm not everyone's babysitter. Leave that to Fury," said Tony.

"It's just…Loki and Thor ran off in a fit, Clint's been injured, though Bruce messaged saying he'll be all right, Natasha—I can never really tell what's on Natasha's mind—and then we have an alien in our building who's surprisingly passive," said Steve. "Things can't be that calm."

"Don't curse us," said Tony. "If somehow we can get a moment of just nothing going on, then take it without protest."

Steve frowned before calling up JARVIS' security screens. The many security camera footages appeared before him in holographic form. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, are you going to start spying on people? I thought you were the prude on privacy," he said.

"I'm just making sure everyone's okay," said Steve. "I know it was a different situation, but last time Loki was left alone and I found him…"

"What happened?" said Tony.

"Maybe I'll talk about it later," said Steve, brushing aside several screens. "Let's just say I'm rather cautious about his—"

Steve froze, his eyes widening as they landed on a particular screen. Tony leaned sideways to see what it was that Steve was studying.

His heart sank.

"Captain, is that—?"

"Hell," said Steve.

That was all the two could say before they dashed out of room toward Gath's prison.

* * *

He was not shaking.

Loki was in the room, the metal cell with Gath and Gath alone, unarmed, unprotected, unprepared. Gath was staring up at him with wrathful amusement, with the same eyes that laughed when Loki was dragged in a parade and forced to eat waste, that laughed when he dangled the dead guard's head in front of Loki's face until he nearly choked.

He could not afford to shake.

But his skin was shivering upon his bones, as tightly as they were wound about them, and he could barely breathe. He could

not

_shake_

Gath leered at him, his yellow teeth gleaming in the white light. Loki sucked in a breath, bundling his hands into fists to keep them from visibly quaking.

He was not afraid.

He was _not afraid._

"Well, well, well," rasped Gath. "Look who deigned to visit me."

Loki did not react. He remembered how quickly the Avengers had gagged him when he was first captured years ago, and glared at Gath's blissfully unbound mouth.

"Why has the mighty prince come?" said Gath.

Why did he come?

(to show himself he was not afraid)

The past could not haunt him. The past could not bind him the past could not claim him could not scar him until he was left mangled could not

"Has it come to play games?" said Gath. "Has it come to seek revenge?"

Loki bit down on his tongue until he was almost certain that any more pressure would slice the tip off.

"Has it come to pillage me?"

Do not react do not do not listen do not

Gath cackled, his broad shoulders shaking with his mirth. Loki took in one deep breath, exhaled. One deep breath, exhaled. The air smelt of the Chitauri—of metal.

"As expected," said Gath, "you do not speak. You do not utter a single sound."

Loki's chest tightened at Gath's words.

"Are you still so cowardly that you will not make a sound? Do you think that my men will find you and run a spear through your belly? Or—even better!"

Gath gasped before craning his neck as if to look behind Loki. "Master Thanos!"

Loki's heart leapt to his throat as he spun around, immediately brandishing a knife that was hooked to his belt, only to be faced with nothing but the door. His blood raced, pounding in his ears, and the sight of nothing made his head faint with panic and relief. Gath howled with laughter behind Loki and he realized his folly, his blood running cold.

"Still so fearful of Lord Thanos, aren't you?" said Gath. "That he will find you in your cubby hole, take you in more ways than one. Such cowardice."

Not a coward. Not a coward.

"Come now," said Gath. "Surely, if you weren't afraid of Thanos, you would let your tongue speak. Sing a little song for me. Prove that you have nothing to fear."

Loki narrowed his eyes. Who did this soldier think he was, that he would order the god of mischief with petty commands to test him? This was the offense of the faithless and the doubters.

"Nothing?" said Gath, tilting his head. His voice dripped with feigned concern.

Loki set his jaw, crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest.

"Arrogant bastard child," Gath said softly. "Even if it is not fear, it surely mutes you like a muzzled dog. Shall we put it to the test?"

Loki urged himself not to react. Not even a sharp movement of the head. He could not let Gath have the upper hand, even if he was blessed with speech and Loki—abstained of it.

"Your mortal companions cannot help you now," said Gath. "I know of their technology that they can watch us this very moment with another pair of eyes, but they cannot hear us. Now you will have to suffer in silence or suffer in your mind. We both know that you do not choose to remain speechless from a fit of fancy."

Loki swallowed hard, but his countenance did not waver.

"Do you know what Lord Thanos plans?" said Gath. "You will now. Thanos has the Reality Gem thanks to a spy, who unfortunately was offed early in the game. All he needs is to wage war to gain the Gauntlet, and of course—you. He will not remain docile while he lacks the Gauntlet. He will wage war, and he will not give a damn how many warriors on either side die, so long as Death's cravings are satiated. He will strike the eight outer realms first all at once, with Asgard as his main prize, before crushing Midgard like the ant it is, until the rest of Yggdrasil falls. He will set the golden city on fire and listen to the subjects scream. He buys his time not to gain strength, but to watch you squirm."

Loki couldn't breathe as truth after truth poured from Gath's tongue. He could detect no lie in those acidic words, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

"It is more of a genocide than a war, for nothing can stand up against Lord Thanos—nothing. Let Asgard raise her warriors, let Jotunheim pray in her temples, Thanos will inflict blight and swarm until the screams of the suffering cease and Death sings. He gathers an army stronger than you know—more than just the Chitauri, but of creatures that even your stay in the Void has not introduced to you. He will launch his attack in almost two moons, to watch you all chase your own tails like rabid mongrels, until he skewers the Jotuns like the beasts they are and scour Alfheim until the elves are nothing but scraps of flesh. When his forces attack Asgard and wrench the Gauntlet from the All-Father's dead and stiff fingers, he will wield the power of the Infinity Gauntlet and send the universe into Death's arms.

"And you—you shall watch, prince of murderers. You will watch and you will not be surprised, for you will know _everything _and yet you kept it in your chest, locked in your silence, to condemn the rest of existence to death because of your _weakness_. And last, Thanos swears to leave you alive. You will be left alone, with no home or no comfort, no compassionate soul or merciful hand will come to you again, and you will wander the rest of your eternity in emptiness, knowing that all destruction, all of your mourning and pain is your fault."

Loki couldn't breathe, and his legs felt weak underneath him. His arms shook uncontrollably.

"Look at you!" Gath cackled, voice hoarse with giddiness. "Look at you quake. You know I speak the truth, you know that Thanos is fully capable of all that he promises. Now what will you do with all your cleverness and lies? _Now what will you do?_"

There was no upper hand. No pride, no game to win, no point to prove. Not when Loki rushed forward, blinded, burning, and stabbed Gath in the chest.

Gath jerked, choking as blood flooded his pierced lungs. Loki twisted the dagger vindictively, his face drawn and grave (but his mind, his mind was dancing, his mind was _jubilating_) before dragging it up and snapping Gath's ribs.

He wrenched out the dagger before slashing Gath's throat. A jet of blood sprayed onto Loki's shirt and face; it tasted bitter and powerful. Gath gurgled, his breath failing as blood flooded its empty spaces. His body jerked from the deathly blows, cracking sharply like a whip. A fish flailing in air, suffocating.

Loki stabbed—stabbed—_stabbed_. Blood coated his entire front and Gath no longer had a face. His body—_corpse—_hung loosely on the binds, nothing but meat, nothing but butchered shreds of flesh. And Loki could not stop himself, could not cry hold—_hold—_as he plunged his blade deeper into Gath's body, as blood stuck to his hands and formed a new layer of skin, until he became the monster that haunted him—

"Loki, _no_!"

Someone grabbed his arm and he wrenched himself away, shoving the dagger into Gath's unidentifiable face. Just as his grip on the dagger slackened, someone dragged him away from the body and threw him on the ground, pinning down his limbs. Loki thrashed on the floor, seizing up like a madman, wanting to kill, kill _destroy. _Who dared to stop him? Who dared to bind him?

"Oh hell," said someone's voice. Loki could not see who it was, and he could barely hear. "Oh shit, oh damn, oh _hell."_

"What did you do?" the person on top of him screamed. He thought it might be Tony, but he could not remember. "What the hell happened?"

Loki twisted until he could look up at the occupants of the room. Clint was interjecting terrifyingly in his hands, pacing back and forth as if to try to calm his nerves at the sight of the massacred body. Steve's face was green, as if he too held a beast within his chambers, and he clutched his stomach. Bruce would not look at anyone, not the body, not Loki, nothing. Natasha's eyes were wide, her lips mouthing something inaudibly. And Thor—

Thor.

Thor Thor Thor _Thor Thor Thor **Thor Thor—**_

Thor, I know what they plan!

I know what it is that Thanos will attempt, what he hopes to wrought upon all Nine Realms, I know what will come—

I know where and when he will strike first, who to seek for help, how to—

I know, I know, I KNOW!

(_and they will be nothing but scraps of flesh murderer he's a murderer prince of beasts even frost giants wouldn't try to kill an entire race fortunate fortunate child two monsters shall be silenced tonight)_

The truth bubbled in him like vomit, begging to come out, pleading, burning. Just at the base of his throat, at the tip of his tongue, pressing against his teeth until his gums hurt, until his lungs were pulled along as if hooks were attached to them and if he didn't speak they would tear apart, wring, rip—

_(two monsters will be silenced tonight two silenced monsters tonight will be monsters two tonight be silenced will )_

He could not speak.

As the Avengers yelled, as the blood drenched the floor, as he was shaken and slammed against the ground, as Thor's face swam over his hazy eyes, Loki would not speak. And Gath—Gath, who was dead, who was nothing but meat on that chair, whom Loki killed on cold blood—laughed. Gath won.

Loki could not speak. He could not even scream or cry. Because his speech was gone, his ability to make himself known, to be heard, to be listened to and understood, was gone. He ripped it from himself, tore away the privilege from the monster that he was, whether he would be a Jotun or an AEsir or any other creature in the world—he was always a monster, regardless. He made a promise that was no lie, that was heavy and sick—that he, Loki of no one and nowhere, with nothing but pain and lies in his entire being, would not burden the world with who he was, not when he slaughtered children and monsters alike and ruined realms. Not when he was and forever will be—_Loki._

He thrashed underneath Tony's grip, fought for nothing. He slammed his head against the floor and walls until he could not hear or see. He covered himself in blood and tore at his chest, his nails ripping his skin, not to shovel out the Gem but his own corrupted heart.

But he never uttered a single sound.


	29. Chapter 29

**Quite a bit of people were questioning the last chapter, especially asking why Loki doesn't think of writing down everything. **

**First, I want to say, sorry for the spelling and grammar errors of the last chapter. I've actually sat down to look through this chapter for once and holy cow you guys my writing SUCKS when I write things for the first draft. I still probably have a lot of errors because I suck but I apologize in advance.**

**Second, I don't recall what I did and did not leave in the final cut of each chapter. I thought I mentioned earlier that Loki stays away from writing down things in order to communicate either, but it's possible that it never made it to the final revision, and I apologize for not making that clear. **

**Third, I'd like to make clear any confusion: it's not talking that Loki's afraid of. In fact, I wouldn't want to narrow it down to say he's just afraid of communication either. He doesn't want to exist anymore, and if communication happens to be a proof that he exists and affects others (and he generally associates himself with having a bad effect nowadays for unsurprising reasons), then he'll deny it. Throughout the progression of the story he seemed to have been getting better (at least, he makes an effort to be understood) but when he was confronted with a side of himself that he hated, he doesn't want to subject others to it and hides in himself. It's kind of like how you wouldn't give a whiteboard and marker to a shy/introverted/depressed/distrusting person just because they won't be honest with you and expect them to feel more comfortable writing things down to show you. Loki's silence, literal and figurative, is a choice, but it's a very emotional choice, and how often does emotion and logic come with the same conclusions?**

**Yes, it's been +30 chapters and Loki still hasn't talked, and in Avengers-time that's probably several months, but do remember that he's spent about +100 years developing the twisted understanding that he doesn't deserve to, so he's going to take a while. **

**Sorry for any confusion I made in earlier chapters...just wanted to clear things up now in case it still didn't make much sense. I think you'll see in this chapter, though, that the situation isn't hopeless, per se.**

* * *

"Stark, where is he?"

Tony didn't turn to look at Natasha. There were shadows underneath his eyes and a plethora of conflicting emotions was evident on his face. Natasha was undaunted by his obvious distress; she couldn't let herself rest.

"Where is he?" she repeated.

"You are not going to Loki at this time," Tony said. It wasn't harsh, and strangely enough not an order.

"Don't you tell me what I will or will not do," said Natasha.

"No, you _won't_," said Tony, turning sharply to her. "He's unstable, he's mentally off the map—what makes you think you can get through him?"

"I'm not trying to play therapist," said Natasha, gripping her hands into fists. "I just want to see him. I want to make sure he's all right."

"Well, surprise," said Tony. "He's not. He's not all right in the slightest."

"And you think it's okay to just leave him alone to deal with everything himself?" said Natasha.

"No—I just think you're not the person to do anything about it right now," said Tony. "Thor's with him. Thor's the only one that would know what's going on in Loki's head right now, he's his brother—"

"I can too," said Natasha. "Loki opens up to me. He would be honest with me."

"Would he?" said Tony. "You, over his big brother?"

"This isn't a matter of competition," said Natasha. "If he can have two people understand him, then that is far better than one. You've got to let me go to him, Stark."

"Natasha— " Tony heaved a sigh and leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples. There was still blood under his fingernails from trying to clean the mess that Loki had left in the room; he refused to let Dummy or Steve do it. "I don't know, all right? Maybe I really don't know what's going on his mind, so I don't know what he wants, but he just went and shanked someone, then tried to bash in his own skull. I think he just needs some _rest_."

"He needs someone that can assure him that he's not alone," said Natasha. "I know he's scared right now. He's scared of himself and of what he's done. He's shocked, he's angry, he hates himself. He has always hated himself. He can't be alone with those thoughts, Stark. I care about him and I _want _him to know that. Can't I do that much?"

Tony watched her intently, as if this was the first time he ever saw her fully and all this time he had only viewed her in a haze with cheesecloth glasses. He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall before gesturing for her to follow him.

"Don't ask questions," said Tony. "When you see where he is—don't get angry. It was for his own good, okay?"

"Don't tell me you put him in a straitjacket," she said, the blood draining from her face.

"Of course not," said Tony. "But I needed to make sure he wouldn't hurt himself or anything."

Natasha could only fear the worst as she followed Tony to the lower levels of the tower. Tony and Steve had subdued Loki—or, at least, taken him out of the cell—and Loki had not reappeared since, leaving the dead prisoner to rot and haunt them, dripping down the walls. She watched JARVIS' security footage of what transpired in the cell. She could deduce nothing—Loki stood stock still while Gath spoke, until Loki rushed forward and stabbed Gath repeatedly, drenching the both of them in blood.

The sight of Loki killing so crudely, so violently, brought shivers down her spine. He needed little effort to kill, but here he was driven nearly mad.

Finally, Tony stopped at a door and unlocked it with a keypad. He cracked the door open just a mite, peering through the crack, before entering. Natasha quickly followed and winced at the sight of the room. It was very empty, save a bare bed. No windows—only padded walls and floor, as if Tony had stolen the room straight from a mental asylum.

Loki was in the corner of the room, his back turned toward them as he curled up on the floor. Thor was beside him, speaking softly so that neither Tony nor Natasha could hear. The two brothers looked so raw, so vulnerable, that Natasha felt a lump form in her throat.

"What kind of room is this?" she said to Tony.

"It was for just in case," said Tony, and he left it at that.

Natasha pursed her lips before stepping cautiously toward Loki and Thor. Thor turned his head slightly when Natasha caught his attention. He watched her warily before whispering something to Loki and standing up, coming to her.

"Agent Romanoff," said Thor.

"How is he?" she said.

Thor's eyes darted toward Loki. "He will not react to me. He will not even look at me. I do not know if he truly hears me."

Natasha swallowed hard. "Is he—is he injured in any way?"

"The good doctor has tended to his needs," said Thor, though his voice sounded unusually empty. "But he does nothing, as if he's trying to be nothing."

Natasha glanced at Loki. He had not moved a single inch, leaning tiredly against the wall. She couldn't see his face, and her eyes were drawn to his fingers curled on the floor. There were ruddy crusts of blood behind the crescents of his nails.

"Can I talk to him?" she said.

Thor hesitated. "I don't know," he said.

"You don't think he'll want to listen to me," she said.

"I do not fear that," said Thor. His voice became thick. "I am selfishly afraid that he will listen to you, and that in the end I cannot be the one to heal him."

Natasha put a hand on his shoulder, but Thor shook his head and gave her a sad smile.

"It matters not," he said. "If you can be the one to help him, and if you will, then I will want nothing more."

"You're so good to him," said Natasha. "Don't you think anything differently, Thor Odinson. You really are help to him."

"Thank you, Agent Romanoff," said Thor. He bowed his head before crouching next to Loki again, speaking softly to his unresponsive brother and kissing him lightly on the top of his head before rising again and following Tony out of the room. Tony closed the door behind them, leaving Natasha and Loki alone in the padded room.

She stepped slowly toward Loki before sinking to the floor next to him. Loki was staring passively at the wall, having no reaction to her. She wondered if his mind was truly still in his body.

"Hey," she said. "It's me."

He blinked, and she took that as an answer.

"Loki," she said.

_If only you could speak to me. _

"I think I know what you're going through," she said.

He made no gesture of disbelief, so she continued.

"You're shocked at yourself, at what you did. This, along with—with other things that happened lately. You hate yourself, and you think—you think you're a monster. You don't want to be yourself anymore. You're—you're—"

She didn't know how to go on, but it hurt her heart to say what she was certain Loki thought. She put a hand on his and his knuckles twitched—his fingers stiffened, and the fact that he reacted to her made her feel relieved.

"Listen to me, Loki," said Natasha. "You aren't a monster. You aren't. Whether you think it's because you're a Frost Giant—or of what happened, it's—it's not true. You don't see how much—how much _muchness _there is about you. You aren't a killer, Loki. _You aren't a killer. _Look at you, you're guilty for killing someone that hurt you. Killing isn't _right, _but just look at you—you know that, you know it's not right and you're guilty and monsters don't feel guilt, Loki. Monsters don't feel anything. You're not a monster."

She was rambling. She was wordless and speechless and yet sound came from her mouth. She didn't know how to comfort people, or assure people, or any of that. She was an assassin, not a decent human being.

But her heart still ached for him.

"Loki, I don't know what to say," she said. "I don't know what to say, because I can't put anything in words. I can't put the fact that I know how much more you are in words. I can't put into words how I know you're not a monster and you never will be because that's the _truth, _that's the plain facts, and you can't use something as small and volatile as words to prove something like that, just as words don't prove whether God does or does not exist, or just as words of love aren't what _is _love, or—or—"

If only she could let him in her mind, let him understand what she couldn't articulate. Let him see the truth about him, the truth about how much he was to her, how much he mattered. How much she cared.

"What I'm trying to say is that—you are never a monster to me. You never will be. When I see you, when I'm with you, I don't think that I'm with anything else or anything less than Loki, _you, _the man I've shared stories with, explored the city with, shared things I was afraid of with—what you've ever done, where've you been, that doesn't change that for me. I know you—I want to know you through and through, and I don't ever want to turn back. Because Loki—_you are worth knowing_ and you are worth understanding. So you can be mute all you want, I will try to listen to you. You can be as unresponsive and you can ignore me all you want, but I will keep trying to reach out to you, because I want to—I want you to be _you."_

_You don't know what you say, _said the way he closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his lips. _You don't know what you say and what if you realize later and you understand what I am? What if you leave me as you should? What if I'm not worth your cost? What if what if what if?_

"I've seen you at your best and your worst, Loki," she said. "So has Thor, and so has practically everyone here in this tower. And you know what? We're still here, waiting for you to come back, wanting for you to be happy with us, and most of all with yourself."

She put her hands on his shoulders and gently turned him to face her. His eyes fell upon her face, and she realized just how brilliantly green they were, like precious jewels. Precious.

Just how dear she realized he was to her made her nearly unable to breathe.

"Loki," she said.

She placed a hand upon his chest. Behind his injured ribs, she felt it, as soft and delicate as a song—his heartbeat. It felt so comforting and assuring under her fingers. To feel how very alive Loki was—it nearly made her own heart skip a beat.

"You're so alive," she said, and she laughed at her own comment. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her ear against his heartbeat and listening to it echo in her head. It was better than any opera, any song, any honeyed words.

"You're so alive and real and you have no idea how happy that makes me," said Natasha.

And the moment that Loki's arms wrapped around her, tightly, desperately, made warmth blossom inside of her. He held her and she held him, and she could hear his heartbeat, steadily, reassuringly, beautifully, warm against her cheek, and she realized—with both shock and understanding, that she didn't want to let him go.

_Thank you, _said the ways he embraced her so closely that they could have melted into each other's bones if they tried—that they could have become whole. _Thank you thank you thank you and I _

But no words were ever needed.

* * *

The days were silent, but danced on busy fingers. Healing was not immediate, if Natasha could so call it healing (_not if she was doing it_), but Loki was no longer unresponsive. He did not speak, still, but he let himself express, and he worked. His hands created thoughts, and for now, it was enough. A hundred and some years of believing one way could not possibly be curbed easily by one moment, but so long as a step was taken in the right direction, she could not be any more thankful.

Loki worked endlessly in Tony's labs when he emerged. The labs were inhabited with protective gear of all sizes, from Tony's discarded models of his Iron Man suit to rollerblading elbow pads, until Tony—hooting with laughter—tossed them. Once Loki had managed to sneak Steve's shield into his studies and Steve did not notice until two days later. When indignantly confronted, Loki frowned disapprovingly as if Steve was being terribly impolite before resuming his close work with some of Clint's protective gloves.

Only Tony and Thor were allowed in the lab. Thor, because he was the one that understood Loki thoroughly, and Tony, because there were times when Loki could not figure out how to use a drill press. Otherwise, no one else saw Loki, as he rarely left the labs, except for the one moment when Thor begged Loki go on a 'coffee date' with him downtown (the result was that all of Tony's coffee makers mysteriously disappeared and later were found piled in Loki's closet) and when Natasha took him to the library (this time _he _disappeared for hours and left Natasha clues of his whereabouts as if to take her along a cat-and-mouse scavenger hunt, and by the time she found him he had already 'corrected' every book on Norse mythology in every library branch in the city).

Natasha would watch Loki's progress through JARVIS' security cameras. For hours Loki would scrutinize every inch of each scrap of metal, each weapon in his hands, before carefully manipulating it with the scepter that he kept with him, magic thrumming thickly from its tip as if Loki was glassblowing with steel. Or playing Operation with his own fingers, gloved with the golden glow of his power.

She could see how it drained him, even though he used his own magic sparingly and took lengthy rests in between to rebuild, but she couldn't just take off and slap him silly for doing it. She wasn't technically supposed to know, after all.

But she watched as Loki would test blades against Tony's discarded suits of armor, shaking his head disappointedly every time and re-testing the armor after tampering with them with unseen power. Magic, she reckoned grimly, had something to do with it, but being mortal made her half-blind.

She watched him prick his fingers with his blades, studying the wound until with a simple snap of the fingers, he healed the wound and bent over the weapons to tinker with them further. She watched him work until he collapsed in a metal chair and dozed off, in which she would surreptitiously leave a cup of tea and a sandwich on the workshop table for him by the time he woke up. She didn't watch him eat it, if he ever did, but it was never around anymore the next time she checked on him.

And she could have sworn that once he looked up at the camera and winked.

She thought of how his eyes watched her mischievously from the other side of the bookshelf in the library as she finally reached the last clue of his scavenger hunt, as if they were in a second-rate movie, and she parted the books that separated them just to slap him for hiding from her for so long.

He could be such a tease, sometimes.

Natasha could still feel how dearly and desperately he held her that day, in the lonely room. How he held her in such a way that said, _I care for you and I will always care for you in a way that no one else ever had, has, or will. _

She shuddered and closed her eyes.

Loki was far from innocent. He had just killed a prisoner on top of many mortals, after all, and she could still see how it haunted him in the shadows of his eyes, how he would look up from his work without warning and sit so still and stiff just _remembering_, and how he would slowly slide back into his work with hesitant hands and a heavy conscience. He was far from innocent, but she knew a naïve soul when she met one. By the way he held her, looked at her, smiled at her, all screamed _I_'_ve never done this before…I've never thought this before…I've never felt this before…_

It didn't matter which exact sentiment enveloped him, the fact remained. Natasha knew that Loki felt a closeness, an inexplicable emotion—platonic or not—toward a liar, a killer, and a guilty soul, if she still even had one at this point.

_Barton told me _everything.

No, he couldn't have. Because Natasha knew there were things that she held from Clint, nightmares and crimes that she couldn't bear to tell Clint in fear that she would lose him forever, that he would never trust her. Even now, when her friendship with Clint was far deeper than any crime could drive a stake through, she feared herself and her truth, and it bundled itself within her like a tumor until she swelled with cancerous self-hatred.

And now Loki, in his naïve, foolish, _idiotic _ingenuousness, looked at her as if she was someone worth admiring, as if she was whole, as if he was the most incompetent God of lies because he couldn't look past hers, couldn't find her truth.

The secrets curdled inside of her until it rotted, fermented into poison—a black stain within her until it couldn't be ripped away.

(She remembered how Loki drew the poison from Clint's wound and her heart jumped)

He couldn't know. No one could know—not Loki, not Clint, not Tony, not anyone. About the monsters that she remembered at night, bearing her face and name. They'd hate her—they'd _hate_ her, and she wasn't as apathetic as she told herself she was. At the end of the day, these people—this ragtag band of misfit toys crammed in Stark Tower—were all she ever had. And if she had to live another day full of regret and emptiness, waiting to die alone, she would be driven mad. She knew it.

No one in this tower was ever innocent, but none could ever be as guilty as she.

(But she wanted to tell. She wanted to break open that metal box which compartmentalized her rawest thoughts and let them pour out, until their weight fell from her shoulders, until someone could look her in the eye and say, now I know. Now I know)

"Hey, Nat?"

Natasha immediately banished JARVIS' holographic screen of security footage just as Thor had entered the lab with Loki. She turned around and saw Clint at the door.

"Yeah?" she said.

"It's nearly two, want to grab some lunch?" he said.

She thought of how she couldn't be the one to fix Clint in the end, and she felt a pang of jealousy for the lucky woman who would.

"Sure," said Natasha.

She thought of how Clint couldn't be the one to fix her in the end, and felt a pang of fear at the wonder if there existed such a person at all.

* * *

"Loki, are you sure this is a good idea?"

Loki rolled his eyes as he positioned one of Stark's old machine guns onto the metal table. Thor watched Loki warily, shifting the metal sheet on its stand to keep straight. He was not so unaware of the pile of scrapped, utterly stripped pieces of metal in the corner and the scrapes along the wall of misaimed weapons.

"I think the last shield was a lot more effective," Thor said, hoping it was of some help. Loki shook his head, narrowing his eyes as he aimed the barrel toward the round metal shield. "At least, it reflected more than half of the bullets."

Loki waved a hand as if to say, _Not good enough._

"Thanos plans to wage war, doesn't he?" Thor said. "That is why you bother testing how to better protect. There's a threat, and it will come soon."

Loki chewed in the inside of his cheek and nodded. He didn't take his eyes off of his aim.

"I should have wagered," said Thor. "This is Thanos we speak of. If anything would kill enough people to please death, it would be war."

He couldn't help but wonder if he was ever as warmongering as Thanos was and suppressed a wince.

"Where does he plan to strike?" said Thor. "Asgard?"

Loki nodded again. His bottom jaw twitched.

"Elsewhere as well?" said Thor. "Midgard too?"

A nod.

"All the Nine Realms?" said Thor.

A grimace, and a short nod. Thor ran a tired hand over his face.

"I should have known," said Thor. "Mother said that Jotunheim was accusing Asgard of launching attacks, when it must have been Thanos and his ploys all along. And Alfheim has been silent, undoubtedly preoccupied by threats."

Loki tossed to Thor a pair of plastic earmuffs. Thor fitted them over his ears until all he could hear was the muffled echo of the insides of his ears pounding against the side of his head. Loki pulled his own pair over his ears and steadied the machine gun. He laced his finger on the trigger before launching a volley of shots toward the shield.

The first rounds of bullets scattered, ricocheting off the shield without leaving a single mark and precariously rebounding onto the walls and shelves, scattering Tony's tools. Loki took the spear and positioned its tip onto the receiver, letting a thin pool of its power pour into the bullets. The shots, swathed in electric blue power, pummeled the shield, leaving dents but no penetration until the last round of shots punctured straight through the metal.

Loki powered down the machine gun, a scowl of frustration on his face. Thor pulled off his earmuffs and treaded carefully through the puddles of discarded cartridges and bullets toward the battered shield. He wrenched it off the stand, the metal hot at the touch from the attack.

"It was still more effective than the last time," said Thor, remembering how Loki blew a clean, large hole through the middle of one of his test shields in the first fifteen seconds. "What did you use this time? A rebounding spell?"

Loki nodded, furrowing his eyebrows. He kicked aside a pool of brass cartridges to make his way to Thor. He took the shield from Thor's hands and squinted at the torn bits of metal, knocking a knuckle on the shield. A tint of red shimmered across the metal at his touch.

"So—an amalgam of a rebounding spell, along with strength enhancement, force reduction, and…fire resistance," said Thor, trying to scribble this down in memory. "Though, any shield from Asgard would already be stronger than whatever metal you find on Midgard. Even these Midgardian weapons could not shatter them.

_And any Chitauri weapon would be stronger than this, _said Loki in the way he crushed his heel in the gathering of cartridges at his feet.

Thor pursed his lips, running a hand through his hair. He certainly was no stranger to Chitauri weapons, and their technology far surpassed both Asgard's and Midgard's, save the rocket weapon that Tony had directed toward the mother ship; unless all of Asgard's forces had a weapon similar to Gungnir or Mjölnir, they were essentially hopeless.

However, the fact that Loki thought he could create magically enhanced weapons and shields without any lore in blacksmith or the Dwarf arts of weaponry was a little too hopeful even for Thor. Spells could only go so far; Mjölnir was by no means a mere good-luck charm.

"How are your knives?" said Thor. "Do they fly any farther?"

Loki made a hand gesture that said, _So-and-so, _before tossing the shield aside to join its fallen brethren. Thor turned back to the notepad in his memory, trying to take in everything that Loki had at least gestured to him and piece them into a tangible, coherent puzzle.

_Enhancement reduction rebounding resistance_

_All the Nine Realms_

_Thanos: Has a Gem. Power, Time, Reality? Space?_

_Not Mind_

_Gauntlet in Asgard_

_If the swiftness of a dagger counteracts the power enhancement spell then its acceleration must double in order to exact palpable damage to_

_DO NOT TOUCH THE SWORD IN THE GLASS CASE_

_Only sorcerers can activate the multiplication of the arrows—needs direct flow of seidr _

_Two months—approximately eight weeks—sixty days _

_NO POPPING TARTS ALLOWED IN WORKSPACE_

"But two months is far from enough time to arm all of the Nine Realms with your own version of shields," said Thor. "Even if Thanos takes one realm at a time, there would not be enough time. And I wouldn't be surprised if he would rather strike all the realms at once to get it over with."

Loki nodded, scowling.

"But what of Midgard?" said Thor. "We cannot let Midgard fall on its own."

Loki punched Thor lightly on the shoulder as if to say, _That's why _you're_ here._

"And Jotunheim?" said Thor.

Loki hesitated before busying himself with the collection of Clint's spare bows he laid out on the table.

"Jotunheim has little to protect herself with, Loki," said Thor. "She was already struggling to stay on her feet even before…well, before the Bifröst incident, and they are no better off now."

Loki shot a look at Thor over his shoulders that clearly asked since when did Thor care so much. Thor felt a brush of indignation at Loki's reaction; Thor had not been banished on the day of his coronation for nothing.

"Do you truly think it so impossible of me to change the way I see the worlds?" said Thor. "I know I let my tongue slip against them, but that does not mean I do not worry of their welfare."

Loki shrugged noncommittally and lifted one of the bows from the table. He drew back the string, his poise impeccable, testing the strength of the bow.

"I had dealt with the diplomatic relationship with Jotunheim once the Bifröst was restored, you know," said Thor. "After the sorceresses formed a tentative replacement, the first trips taken were mine to Jotunheim to apologize and restore a truce."

Loki turned toward Thor.

"Our peace is—well, delicate," said Thor. He kicked around the cartridges on the floor as an absentminded tic. "The new leader—the queen—is reasonable and favors order over grudges. There was a great while of anarchy in Jotunheim, though—when Laufey first died and the realm nearly destroyed. But a dictator and a coup d'etat later, Jotunheim has an able ruler on her throne."

Loki scratched dust off of Clint's bows as if uninterested, but Thor saw how his eyes were bright and attentive, and how carefully he moved as to not muddle Thor with cluttered white noise.

"We paid Jotunheim penance in bullion and aid to help them rebuild," said Thor, "but they still suffer from instability in their ranks and a famine ever since their realm's half-destruction. Without help, they will surely die."

Loki looked away, running his hand down the black bow. Thor sighed and sat himself on a stool, watching his brother cautiously.

"I know that there are…discrepancies between you and Jotunheim," said Thor. "But no realm, no people, deserves Thanos' wrath. They shall be our allies, I assure you. And Asgard will see that. Asgard will no longer be as ignorant and harsh as they have been."

_Good luck with that, _said Loki's dry smile.

"When I am king," said Thor, "I'll go to the Jotuns and take arms alongside them all."

Loki's gaze flickered to the floor before he swiftly pulled back the bow and aimed it at the wall, releasing the string with a thick _twang_. Even though he did not string the bow, an arrow shot from the weapon and sank into the wall, leaving ripped plaster.

He nodded at the bow approvingly before tossing it to Thor. Thor caught it, the bow delicate and light in his heavy hands. He drew the string back just as Loki did, his gaze centered on the spot on the wall still unmarred by Loki's experiments, before releasing the metal cord. A conjured arrow shot from the bow landed perfectly in the last stretch of perfectly white wall.

"Impressive spell," said Thor. "Though, our archers would yet feel more comfortable with their quivers upon their backs."

Loki let the bow fall from his hand, wandering to the battered wall. Thor couldn't see Loki's face, but he saw the way Loki braced his shoulders stiffly as if to ward off any physical contact, how he stared down at his hand that clenched and unclenched into a fist.

Thor stepped toward him and gently laid a hand on Loki's arm. Loki jerked back, as if he did not expect for his arm to experience any sensation—as if it was not a part of him, but a foreign tumor.

"Let yourself rest, Loki," said Thor. "The more you use your magic, the stronger the Mind Gem becomes."

Loki clenched his teeth and hid his hand. He bent down to retrieve discarded arrows from the floor. Thor wondered if he imagined Loki's hand shaking, or if he imagined the chill coming from Loki's touch.

"Loki," said Thor.

Loki jerked his head slightly to acknowledge Thor.

"Should these weapons and shields work—even if we can push off Thanos' forces, what then?" said Thor. "Thanos is as immortal as we, and there will come a time when both our forces will dissipate." He swallowed hard. "And what of you? Will the Mind Gem curse you forever?"

Loki turned his head a millimeter toward Thor. He bit the tip of his tongue—tense, stone still—before cracking a wry smile and shrugging a shoulder. He bundled the arrows together and walked away from Thor, engaging himself in tidying Tony's encumbered workshop.

Thor felt his heart sink and he reached out to grab Loki's sleeve before Loki could slip away.

"You know something more, don't you?" said Thor. "You know something but you will not tell me."

Loki's cynical humor dried on his face until it crackled with age and nothingness. He tried to pull away, but Thor's grip was too desperate.

"What is it that you know?" said Thor. "If it will aid the well-being of any of the realms, Jotunheim or Vanaheim or anywhere, I beseech you to tell me immediately."

Loki shook his head, shedding his hollow grin. He raised his hand, but stopped himself halfway and let it fall aimlessly to his side.

"If it is of your own well-being," said Thor, "I beg that you do not keep me in the dark. I know you, how in your most desperate times you will not truly cry for help. Even if your life depends on it."

He took Loki gently by the shoulders and turned him so that he would face him. Loki locked his eyes on Thor, but focused on a stray strand of hair or a speck on his cheek, never letting Thor into his mind.

"Will you not help me help you?" said Thor.

Loki nudged Thor's hands away from him and returned to his work, his hands flitting with magic over his weapons meticulously. Thor watched, the awe of magic he once held now a hollow reminder that it was what dragged Loki further and further away from him, in both mind and spirit. There was a shimmer—Thor nearly missed it if he had not cared—upon Loki's visage, as if a haze masked him, until it was gone as soon as it came. And Thor knew.

Even for a god of lies, it ought to be considered cheating to use the magic of glamour to cloak the truth.

* * *

"You know, Fury, I really don't like talking to people on the phone."

"Well that's funny, because I was under the impression you couldn't care less talking to me in any other situation."

Tony took a gulp of his water bottle before turning back to his phone. "Fair statement. Can you blame me, though? You can be a really tight-ass sometimes."

"Stark."

"Right. Respect and manners. If I don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all, yada yada." Tony rubbed his throbbing forehead. "Listen, can you call back later? I'm dealing with a killer hangover from like, a week ago still."

"What happened a week ago that sent you into an alcoholic stupor?" said Fury.

"That's my stuff to worry about," said Tony. "What are you doing, calling me in the middle of the day? Want a play date? Sorry, pal, you gotta book it with my secretary, except I gave her a promotion. So I guess you're out of luck."

"Your innocent act is running thin, Stark," said Fury.

"No idea what you're talking about," said Tony.

"The security tapes have been tampered with," said Fury, "we've got blood residue in a storage room. There are recent traces of Agent Hill's thumbprint is on a scanner when she hasn't been down in the basement for a good four weeks. And my agents are dead."

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it. He waited in silence for what Fury had to say next.

"What I want to know," said Fury, "is why you SOBs infiltrated our headquarters to get a goddamn scepter that only one asshole in particular would be able to wield."

Tony gritted his teeth and filled the silence with another gulp of water.

"Vulk wasn't our fault, you know," said Tony.

"No," Fury said. "I didn't think so. But blame doesn't really make a difference to her family when they found out she won't be sitting at the table for the next Thanksgiving."

"I told you, we had nothing to do with her death," Tony said, his voice roughing up on the edges with indignation. "Look, the blood isn't our fault either, not technically, and all we wanted was to get the damn scepter and get out."

"Do you understand what that scepter can do in the hands of Loki?" said Fury.

"I know pretty well what can happen if it isn't in his hands," said Tony. "We would have asked nicely, Fury, if the rest of SHIELD didn't seem like they wanted to put his head on the chopping block."

Fury was stiffly silent, but Tony did not feel the satisfactory sense of victory.

"His magic is dangerous enough as it is," said Fury.

"It would be even more dangerous if he didn't have anything to channel it with," said Tony. "You saw how it exploded in the headquarters. With a scepter, he has more control over it."

"That was another thing I needed to talk to you about," said Fury.

Tony felt cold premonition trickle through his veins. "Shit. No. I'm putting my foot down."

"Your foot has been stomping all over the place demanding things go your way," said Fury. "You think people should get away scotch-free when they kill?"

"It wasn't his fault," said Tony. "You try keeping people safe when you have a grenade in your chest and you can't control when it blows up."

"Someone has to _do something _for this, Stark," said Fury. "Fifteen agents were killed from that, a good forty-three injured. And whether or not it was on purpose, there's no denying that it was his doing."

"Then what do you want to do?" said Tony. "Lock him up for eternity? Put him on trial at the Supreme Court? I don't know much about law, Fury, but I don't think you punish a landlord when an outside arsonist sets their apartment and tenants on fire."

"So you can sleep fine after fifteen families lose someone because of a supposed accident," said Fury. "I guess that's understandable, considering your past."

Tony felt his mind melt into acid.

"What do you want, a fine? I'll pay the fine. I'll pay you a billion dollars, right here and right now. Is that it?" said Tony. "Is that what it will take to leave me alone?"

"People's lives aren't priced with money, Stark."

"I know," said Tony, and he felt shame simmer inside of him. "Okay. That wasn't good of me. I admit that. Look, Fury, I'm sorry that those people lost their lives. I _am. _It's just that I know—_I know—_that Loki doesn't deserve whatever punishment you want to dish out."

"The Council demands a trial," said Fury.

Tony's stomach churned.

"They would give him a death sentence, hands down," Tony said. "Fury, you can't do that."

"There needs to be a trial, regardless of who implements it," said Fury. "Or do you think that those fifteen people who were killed should be tossed aside and forgotten about? You want me to have written the 'We deeply regret to inform you' letters to fifteen families and know that there will never be any justice, any explanation, any recompense for them except, sorry, your agent just had shit luck because we agreed to babysit an alien war criminal in the city he tried to destroy?"

Tony swallowed hard. He knew Fury had a point—that he couldn't ignore that at the end of the day, Loki's magic had killed people (_that Tony's device had killed people)_, and many people at that, and nothing was being done for them. If he was in such a situation—if one day he found out that another person's incompetence had killed Pepper—he would never think the way he was thinking now. He would want justice—if not revenge.

It hurt to understand this.

"Then put me on trial," said Tony. "I'm the one responsible."

"Stark, that wasn't your magic."

"It was my device that made his magic do what it did," said Tony. "If Loki had a fire, I was the one who told him to use a fire extinguisher and ended up giving him a flamethrower instead. Yeah, it was an accident on my part, but it would have never happened if I wasn't there. It wouldn't have happened if I didn't make him use that arc reactor."

"They wouldn't consider putting you on trial, Stark," said Fury. "The Council wouldn't."

"Why not? I'll be a witness. I'll be my own prosecutor. I'll explain the hell out of it."

"SHIELD wants reparation," said Fury, "but the Council wants Loki."

Tony's breath caught in the middle of his throat.

"Loki's already paid justice for what he did in New York City," said Tony. "Is the Council still trying to hound him for that?"

"You do recall," Fury said, his voice bitter, "that the Council wasn't very turned off by the idea of nuking all of New York City to get rid of Loki and his army, right?"

"Then the Council can suck it. SHIELD families want some sort of restitution? Fine, I'll do what it takes to make it right. But the Council isn't going to get their hands on Loki if all they want is an execution."

Fury didn't say anything at first. After a moment of stiff silence, he gave an exasperated sigh.

"Since when did you become so protective over that son of a bitch, Stark?" said Fury.

"Trust me," said Tony. He couldn't help but give a grim smile. "When you're playing roommates with the guy, it's hard not to."


	30. Chapter 30

**Mercenarychick wrote a poem based off of this story! Please take a look through the link on my profile! FFnet for some reason absolutely forbids link posting...**

**Remember the times when the Avengers still hated Loki? Good times...(this story's length is becoming ridiculous)**

**I want to reiterate my utmost thanks for your patience and dedication to reading this story. I recognize that it is by no means a short one and sometimes the plot might feel like it is dragging, but I assure you that the action and end will come in its due time. Thank you for always reading. **

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**"But you said there's something I have to say**

**And I can't because I'm just so afraid**

**So I held you as you started to shake that night…"**

**-Tenth Avenue North, 'Oh My Dear'**

The rain wouldn't stop pouring, as if it was trying to wash away an unspeakable sin. Its chill permeated even Stark Tower's sturdy walls, pressing its fingerprints against the walls and streaking the glass. As Loki watched the rain gloss over the window, making the smooth surface ripple against the dusk, he made a mental note to make sure Thor wasn't emotionally compromised. Not all storms came from Thor, but it wouldn't hurt to make certain.

The city dragged itself to bed at this hour, driven back earlier by the rain. The cars would ski across the puddles on the road, sending miniature waves against the curb. Pedestrians' numbers grew thin on the sidewalk. Loki wondered if a flood could rage at a time like this, and if it did, if it would reach the tens of floors of Stark Tower that the rest of them presided on. If the whole world would flood and all the living creatures would be washed away, would then the world be cleansed?

He stepped away from the window. The tower was too quiet to linger. Rain brought the drowsiness in all of them, even Tony and his stubborn nocturnal habits. Loki hardly slept; after a century and more of never given a moment of rest, he had lost the ability—or perhaps, the solace—of sleep, and it was now nothing more than a distant and dusty habit of old, like crawling into the other side of Thor's bed when he was frightened when they were unthinkably young. Something gone, something lost by no fault of anything or anyone except life.

Still, there was little else he could do with everyone else slinking away into their private corners, and Tony had locked Loki out of his workshops after he saw the mess Loki left in it. He could not shed the restlessness that pervaded his senses—how Thanos' planned to attack in roughly two months and Loki wasn't even certain if he was able to leave Midgard with the Mind Gem stuck in his chest. If they dallied too long—if they did not come to action sooner—

"Loki?"

Loki stopped in his steps, shaken out of his own thoughts. Natasha was at the door to her room, her hair disheveled from sleep. Loki bowed his head in acknowledgement, offering her a quizzical smile.

"I can't sleep," said Natasha, stepping out and closing the door behind her. "What about you? You never sleep."

Loki frowned at her. The shadows under her eyes were nothing hidden, and there was a weariness in her soul. He touched the side of her head gently.

"My mind's too rowdy to let me sleep," said Natasha. "It's like this a lot. I either stay up all night, thinking, or I have nightmares."

Loki nodded. He gestured to the kitchen down the hall, where he was sure Tony kept at least a carton of milk and honey somewhere. Frigga had always given him hot milk and honey when he couldn't sleep in his youth, and surely such a charm wasn't limited to only children.

"No thanks," said Natasha. "I kind of…don't want to sleep. Do you mind if I stay around with you? Just for a little while."

Loki shook his head, his heart warming promptly. She smiled—it was a genuine one—and he pointed outside where the showers pitter-pattered against the window.

"You want to take a walk?" said Natasha. "Sure, that'd be great, actually. Let me get my shoes and an umbrella."

She retreated to her bedroom to pull on a pair of thick rain boots and a strange Midgardian contraption that cupped over their heads like a squat tent. They rode the elevator down to the ground floor and slipped past security into the chilly rain. Natasha opened the umbrella over their heads and pressed close to Loki so that the both of them would be covered. She was so short, and he so tall, that his head constantly scraped the top of the umbrella. She laughed and he took the umbrella from her, holding it for the both of them.

"You're not cold, are you?" said Natasha, nodding to Loki's jacket.

Loki shook his head and raised his eyebrows at her.

"I'm not either," said Natasha. "I've been through much colder weather. This is almost nothing."

The pavement slapped against their watery footsteps as they wandered through the city. The bright lights of the city illuminated the rain until they looked as if they fell as lightly as snowflakes, falling from so high that Loki could look up and up as much as he could and see nothing but the endless black night.

"Wait, wait, wait," said Natasha. She went to a lamppost on the side of the pavement. Loki tried to dog her footsteps to keep her head covered with the umbrella.

"Don't judge me, okay?" said Natasha. She climbed upon it, clinging to it with one outstretched hand. "How did it go? Oh—'_I'm singin' in the rain! Just singin' in the rain! What a glorious feelin', I'm happy again!_'"

Loki grinned and held the umbrella aloft to shield her from the rain. She lifted a hand towards the rain, catching the droplets in her palm. The lights were golden, kissing her hair.

Without warning, a speeding taxi shuttled past them, skidding across a puddle of water and sending a wave at their ankles. Loki jumped as his knees were soaked and as Natasha cursed when her pants were splattered with rainwater.

"Well, that ruined the musical moment," Natasha said, squinting at the back of the retreating car. "Oh, what's the use!" She took the umbrella from Loki's hand and closed it, letting the rain fall in all its glory onto their heads. "We might as well go all out."

Loki smirked before stomping in the puddle of water, splashing her even more. She yelped before retaliating, dragging her foot swiftly across the surface of the puddle until water swarmed at his ankles, seeping into his shoes. He danced out of the way, nearly crashing into cross pedestrians.

"Oi, watch it!" said a gruff voice in the crowd.

Loki regained his step, edging tentatively to the end of the sidewalk, away from everyone's path. A bus rushed past him, drenching him with another wave of water that almost soaked him to the bone. Natasha grabbed his elbow and dragged him away from the street.

"This place is crowded, let's go to the park," said Natasha.

Loki nodded and followed her down the line of streetlights. She talked about whimsical things, like how Steve received letters upon letters from a secret admirer in his P.O. box only to find out today that they were all from Clint as a result of sheer boredom, or how the kitten he had a brief fondness for months ago was now on sale and if only Bruce and Pepper weren't so allergic to cats!

He listened and listened, and found himself still hungry to hear her voice. It was strange, for before he would grow lonely and bitter in his silence as he let others talk to him to death about their thoughts, their commands and opinions and he had no word to fit in, but here and now he wanted to fill himself to the brim with her words and voice, because she wanted to talk to him and only him.

The park was bare, the rain chasing the birds and their feeders far away, with only the white lampposts to light their way. They walked slowly through the path, listening to the way the rain rapped against the leaves of the trees like piano fingers. It was only the two of them, and neither of them felt alone.

"This place is usually crazy crowded," said Natasha. "You couldn't even get around on the path very easily, and it's supposed to be a _park. _Are there parks in Asgard? You know, places to appreciate nature."

Loki nodded.

"Nature's a crazy thing," said Natasha. "Have you ever heard of the sea sparkle? Or—what was it?—Noctiluca scintillans."

Loki frowned and shook his head. Natasha's face brightened.

"They're a natural phenomenon," she said. "Like a quiet miracle. Something in oceans—near Australia or the Caribbean or somewhere—makes the water so that in the nighttime, it glows blue. And when you throw something into the water, the ripples shine electric blue. I've always wanted to dive into an ocean of sea sparkles and watch the water glow around me." She craned her neck to the sky. "I bet that if it rained, it would look like lights were dancing."

Loki cupped his hands, letting the water collect between the cracks of his palms. The droplets clung to his fingers, and he let them collect until the water sloshed in his hands, until it overflowed. Teasingly, he flung the water on Natasha, who jumped back in attempts to avoid it.

"Oi, watch it, Bambi," said Natasha.

Loki smirked. Natasha poked him hard on the side.

"You know, the last time you were here, it was after the battle with the Chitauri and everything," said Natasha. "You know…when Thor was taking you back with the Tesseract."

Loki nodded slowly. He figured as much; the park looked unrecognizable in the dark and rain, and it wasn't as if he had seen it in his most recent memory, but he had a long one nonetheless. He still remembered the shame and bitterness that had weighed him down with each step when he came here the first time, and he wanted to shake his head in disbelief, that the second time he walked through this park was side-by-side with a companion he had undoubtedly tried to kill when they first met.

"Crazy how so much has changed in between," said Natasha. She looked up at him. "Crazy how much _you've_ changed. But maybe this is the real you all along, but you were hiding that...pretending it didn't exist because of everything that happened beforehand."

Loki took the umbrella back from Natasha and opened it, raising it over their heads again as the rain began to grow heavier. Natasha wrung the water from her hair before shaking her head vigorously. Loki saw how she was shivering from the cold and he stopped her, frowning.

"I don't want to go back yet," said Natasha. "I'm fine. I told you, I'm used to the cold. I'm Russian, or at least I was."

He cocked his head questioningly. Russian, as far as he understood, was more or less the same as comparing Vanaheim to Asgard—a different people, a different nation, but at least in Russia's case the same race as everyone else. How did she so easily claim to shed such an identity when Loki could not even ignore his Frost Giant aspects if he tried?

"I've given that up," said Natasha. "I left that place some time ago and I'm not going back if I can help it. It brings back too much…I mean, I just don't want to live there again."

She looked away. Loki bent over slightly to try to catch her face. Trouble flitted across her face, the way she pressed her lips together and the way her eyes flickered with uneasiness.

What is it?

"It's nothing," said Natasha. "Russia's done and gone, and I'm here now. That's all that matters."

He put a hand on her shoulder and she nearly jerked back, perplexed. When she looked up at him, he knew immediately the truth within her lies. The heaviness of the words she tried to dress in noncommittal indifference. And how heavy they were, that they hooked to the end of her heart and dragged it down until it sank!

"There's nothing to talk about," she said.

The strange thing about people was that when they thought of the god of lies, they would never expect him to be so fluent in truth; lies and truth could not exist with each other, after all.

He wouldn't break their gaze, his hand still lightly on her arm. She looked as if she wanted to tear away, to walk faster until she could distance herself from the truth she so adeptly hid, but her defiance faltered with Loki before her, as if the truth fought and wrestled to come out of her but her mind begged otherwise.

_Please tell me._

_I want to know._

_I care to know._

And he knew that she wanted to tell him—he could feel it. She had wanted to be with him as her mind raged in the night, after all.

But she turned away and walked on, leaving Loki behind. Loki hesitated before following her, two steps behind her as she kept her head low and her feet taking one step after the other. Loki felt the chill of the rain creep across his skin and into his blood, gathering at his fingertips and against his lips.

_Will you not trust me? _

Natasha's shoulders were hunched, as if she wanted to hide within herself. He reached a hand out toward her, but her steps quickened and he was nearly left in the wake of her trailing dust. As if she was trying to run away from nightmares at her heels, but they were in the shadows of her mind.

_For you, I'll find those monsters and slay them all. _

She slowed, and swayed from the path, sinking onto a park bench. Loki took a seat next to her, keeping the umbrella aloft. She bent low, clutching her arms and keeping her eyes on the toes of her boots. Loki waited patiently, unsure whether he was supposed to put his arm around her (was she cold?) or sit there unresponsively.

"I—" started Natasha, but her voice caught in her throat and she closed her mouth. She took a deep breath and tried again. "There's something I want to tell you."

Loki bowed his head slightly, leaning forward to listen.

"I don't know how to say it, though," said Natasha. She bit her lip, rubbing her arms vigorously. "I just think…I want you to know. I mean, I don't want you to know, except you deserve the truth. But at the same time—" She sighed and let her head hang low. "What was I thinking? Damn, what was I thinking?"

Loki put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze. He knew as well as anyone else how telling the truth was perhaps the hardest thing anyone could ever do, to bring to light the darkness that ate from the inside out. Natasha shuddered under his touch and her hand itched to place itself on top of his, but she stopped herself.

"I'm a monster, Loki," she said quietly. "I've been pretending this whole time I was good, that I was doing right. That's not true at all. It isn't true."

She took in a shuddering breath. Loki held his breath, on the edge, waiting for her heart.

"I've done awful things," said Natasha. Her voice was thick. "I've done things that are despicable, and you don't know what they are. No one does. I've told no one—I _couldn't_. I tried hiding it, tried forgetting it, tried pretending they never existed, but they're a part of my past, my life, and they'll never go away."

Of all the things he ever said to her, perhaps that had become his great regret.

"You know I was an assassin," said Natasha. "That I killed people for a living. For a life." She pressed her hand against her lips and breathed in deeply before letting it fall back to her lip. "Clint—he says that I had no choice in it, killing people. That it wasn't my fault and I shouldn't be so hard on myself. But it's not like that at all. I had a choice. I made a choice. And I wanted it. And I was—I was so, so—"

Her voice became so swollen that it lodged in her throat and she could hardly breathe. She swallowed and pressed a hand against her forehead. Loki felt her shake under his hand.

"I didn't just kill people secretly," said Natasha. "I killed people—just because they were important, to someone, for something, anything. I killed them, and I made it a game. I made it a sport. I didn't always just take a gun to their head and pull the trigger. I didn't always trick them into trusting me before betraying them to their deaths. I—"

She choked on a sob before forcing herself to swallow it down with a curse under her breath.

"I made people kill themselves before," she said. "I made them commit suicide. I was never instructed to do this—I did it on my own accord. For my own gain, my own pleasure. I would drive people with happy lives and loved ones to end themselves. I knew how to manipulate people, to pull at their insecurities and their weaknesses and their pain until they were spiraling downward, and they would put the trigger to their own heads or step off the top of a building. And I would watch, and keep score."

Loki felt his own throat swell. Natasha shook uncontrollably now, her face hidden from him. To learn that the woman before him had taken pleasure in driving people to throw away their own lives—he didn't know what to think.

(_"No, Loki," was what it took before he let his own life fall, and he wondered if it had been that easy for her as well)_

"I would feed them lies about their self-worth," said Natasha. She pressed her hands against her eyes. "I would convince them that they were nothing, that they had nothing worth living for. That they were alone. All it took were careful words and twisted truths, and they would—the people, they—"

She tried to choke back a cry, but she couldn't let it hide. Tears mingled with the rain.

"I didn't care. I never did. Not about them, or the loved ones they left behind, nothing. How can anyone say it wasn't my fault, that I was forced to do what I did, when I know that it isn't the truth at all? How can anyone stand to be with me—even look at me? I killed people—I _killed _them, I—"

She bent low until her head nearly touched her knees, cowering in the shade of her own shame. She let out a raw sob.

"I'm disgusting," she wept. "I'm so disgusting, I—"

Without a moment of hesitation, Loki wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. She gasped at his touch, but he held her close and wouldn't let her go. His heart burst at the sound of her cries, at the pain that marred her mind and soul for so long, that blackened her thoughts and guilt. Her mind must have told her to pull away, that she didn't deserve anything, much less this, but her vulnerability and pain was so much to bear that she turned and embraced him desperately, hungrily, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

"Why are you doing this?" she sobbed, clutching him so tightly against him that she could have melted into his bones. "You should hate me for this. Why?"

Loki only rocked her gently, pressing closely to her, protecting her from the rain and from her sorrow. What she had done, what she had driven others to, hurt him to hear, but in that moment, when she let her darkest side come forth, he realized that he never loved her more than now despite all the shame she bore. It was her truth, her trust, and her willingness to speak that made her so beautiful and beloved. She overcame her own shame to tell him what she had done, she cried out her sorrow to him because she wanted him to _know the truth_. And now, he never wanted to leave her.

In the rain, he held her to his heart as her tears washed away her past.


	31. Chapter 31

**Hi loves! So I normally really love replying individually to each review, but this past weekend had been super busy, so I apologize to those who read the story over the weekend for not thanking you personally. Here's a big shoutout and hugs and kisses to you guys! Thank you so much for checking this story out and I will work to be much better at this whole replying thing! :D**

**So guys, I'm actually really excited to show you the chapter after this one. Not because of anything plotty, admittedly, but for very personal reasons. More to be explained in the next chapter's author notes, so please stay in tune for next Monday!**

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"All right—let's try one more time."

Loki rubbed his wrist gingerly, eyeing the metal glove on the table before him. It uncannily reminded him of the Infinity Gauntlet, except much less gaudy and void of any magnifying gems of power. He picked it up from the table and slipped his hand into it. The gauntlet nearly reached the middle of his forearm and when he let his hand fall to his side the gauntlet slipped off immediately.

Tony groaned and picked it up off the ground. "You seriously have the smallest hands ever."

Loki raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, your fingers are long and stuff, but they're crazy thin," said Tony, taking a screwdriver to tighten the spaces. "Are you always this thin?"

Loki shrugged. He had never been as thickset as Thor, but if he was honest with himself, then he had to admit that his limbs were bonier than normal. They never truly regained the same health as before he fell from Asgard.

"Can't have you trying to perform magic and this thing falls off entirely," said Tony. "Though, I think after a while your magic will calm its ass down and you won't have to use this when you're wearing the arc reactor…but better safe than sorry." He looked up at Loki. "It will, wouldn't it?"

Loki couldn't answer it for himself. Still grasping on the scepter from the battle, he directed its magic to the mug by Tony's side. The previously empty cup was suddenly filled to the brim with steaming black coffee. Tony gratefully took the mug and gulped several mouthfuls down.

"Thanks a lot," said Tony, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before returning his attention on the glove.

Loki bowed his head. It was the least he could do for someone who spent countless sleepless nights working on a mechanism just for his sake.

"But anyway," said Tony, squinting at a stubborn screw. "Have you been eating lately? I mean, you eat the fruits and vegetables Pepper cooks, but that's all I know."

Loki gave a small smile. If he chose to speak, he could have told Tony that true, Loki was not eating as heartily as the others, even for a small appetite such as his, and thus his weight refused to return. But that would have been a lie.

He rubbed his face tiredly, feeling the magic glamour as his fingertips skimmed across his skin. Tony nudged the cup of coffee toward Loki. Loki shook his head.

"Maybe you should take a nap," said Tony. "You look like you need one."

Loki rolled his eyes and pointed accusingly at Tony. Tony stuck his tongue out at him.

"Hey, I'm busy. You, on the other hand, should get your strength up. Don't think I didn't know what magic you exerted that one time with Clint and Bruce."

Loki rested his chin on his interlaced fingers, planting himself stubbornly on his chair.

"And all those times in my lab when you were wrecking shit," said Tony. "Thor said you were testing out weapons and trying to—what was it?—enhance them with your magic. Yeah, what did we tell you about using your magic? Kind of fatal, don't you think?"

Loki smirked at Tony. Since when was the man of Iron so nagging?

"You know how much I have to pay to fix those walls?" said Tony. "Those were actually pretty pricy. That's going to come out of your paycheck."

Loki waved a hand dismissively. If Tony only asked, Loki could have easily mended the walls with his magic. Tony must have understood, because he snorted and waved the glove in his hand.

"Hey, no thinking about magic until after we get this on you properly, okay? And this isn't even done here—we have to make sure this thing actually works. See, I can't add any magical attributes to it like the scepter, but it can attract your supernatural energy flow and sort of—well, I don't want to say it contains it, but it softens the flow. Almost dilutes it so the concentration won't make things explode like last time."

Loki nodded, lowering his eyes. He played absentmindedly with the discarded screws between his fingers. Tony frowned slightly but silently returned to his work.

And what if the scepter of a glove didn't work? What if Tony fixed the arc reactor upon Loki and his magic ended up ricocheting everywhere like last time, destroying everything it touched? What if he killed more people out of accident, and nothing could erase accidents?

The screw fell from Loki's fingers, clacking on the metal table. Loki pressed his lips together before leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms tightly. No one had mentioned the episode in SHIELD when he had killed who knew how many people because of his magic ever since. Even when Loki had blatantly returned to the SHIELD headquarters to fetch his scepter, there was no sign of what occurred in the aftermath of the accident. Certainly SHIELD did not let everything simmer down to calmness and everyone eventually forgot about the dead as if they never mattered. If Loki had learned anything about mortals in his time here, it was that they mourned every death.

He watched Tony suspiciously. Tony didn't seem to notice, or at least he ignored Loki magnificently as he tightened the spaces. If anyone knew what had occurred, what SHIELD felt, how the people grieved, it must have been Loki. Perhaps because Tony was one that easily hid the truth.

Finally, Tony's gaze flickered up at Loki. He raised an eyebrow questioningly before handing the glove to Loki. It was significantly smaller than before, but when Loki pulled it onto his left hand, it fit nearly perfectly. He admired the gleaming metal, how it cupped his wrists and each knuckle easily. He flicked his wrist sharply, and his hand did not rattle in the loose spaces of the insides of the glove.

"Okay, finally," said Tony, pumping his fists in the air. "Seriously, you have skeletal hands, it's kind of scary. I'm ordering steak and potatoes for you. Make that five plates. Now…we should check about the magic."

Tony stood from his chair and came to Loki's side. He took a grip on the scepter in Loki's hand. "When you hold this scepter, I'm guessing you feel a lot more powerful? Or, you have more magic that's controlled and plentiful in you?"

Loki nodded, smirking. Tony was certainly getting a hang of the magic he so vehemently begrudged against.

"This gauntlet probably won't have that same effect," said Tony. "You know, me being unable to actually make magic, only manipulate it through energy readings. What this will do is that it will be able to channel your magic and keep it from going out of order, trying to push itself out of you from every pore. But until it gets the get-go signal, also known as you choosing to perform magic, it won't let the powers just shoot out of your hand. You think you can sense that?"

Loki nodded. He let go of the scepter and closed his eyes, probing at his web of energy within him. Yes—there was a certain flow of his magic that pulsed more healthily before, especially at his hand. It was like feeling the tingling in an arm after its blood flow was blocked slowly fade to comfortable normalcy, despite the miniscule tremor within the veins.

"Is it good?" said Tony.

Loki gave a short nod. Tony gave a low whistle of approval and set the scepter aside.

"Damn, that thing's kind of heavy," said Tony. "Glowstick of destiny, a total pain in the ass."

Loki shot a look of disapproval at Tony. That 'glowstick of destiny' happened to be a powerful and ancient tool of the Nine Realms.

"All right," said Tony. He ran his hand through his hair. "All right…how do you feel about me putting on the arc reactor?"

Loki drew back instinctively. For a moment, he thought he felt the Mind Gem squirm in protest within his chest. Tony pursed his lips.

"I know it sort of failed last time," said Tony, "but look here—it's safe here. These walls? They keep in blasts of all kinds. How else would I have tested my suit? And if I notice anything going amiss, I can easily take out the arc reactor. Easy peasy. And…then we'll go back to the drawing board."

Loki couldn't help but gape at Tony. Either Tony completely forgot that Loki had the ability to blast a clean hole through Tony's body with his uncontrolled magic, or Tony had no level of self-preservation to consider that threat. Loki found the latter more believable.

And what then? Once the Mind Gem's power was suppressed, what next? Loki knew it would not be the end. Poison can be contained, but it could not cease. And this one within him had no antidote.

But Thanos could come into his mind—his body and being—any moment and steal more truths about Midgard. Perhaps hurt one of the others, if not kill. There was no room for second guesses and hesitation.

Loki took in a deep breath and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing his chest and the metal brace that would keep the arc reactor in place. Tony nodded approvingly before fetching the arc reactor from its safe compartment. Loki swallowed hard.

"You ready?" said Tony, holding up the arc reactor.

Loki glanced around the room briefly. There was an object labeled 'fire extinguisher' in the corner, and that was all that could possibly save Tony. Tony followed Loki's gaze and shook his head.

"You'll be fine. _I'll _be fine. I survived freaking outer space. If that didn't kill me, nothing will."

Amazing how confident mortals can act in their vulnerability.

Before Loki could prepare himself, Tony fitted the arc reactor into the ring. Loki sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a wave of cold rush through him.

The Mind Gem felt as if it was shrieking in his chest, twisting and turning until his muscles ached until it was subsequently silenced, like a heavy stone in his chest squelching his insides. He stumbled back, clutching the edge of the table as his lungs tightened and made it hard to breathe. Tony was quickly at his side, his hands poised to steady Loki, but Loki swatted away Tony, stabilizing his breath.

"Are you okay?" said Tony. "How do you feel?"

Loki gave Tony a thumbs up, rubbing his aching chest.

"Bullshit."

Tony pulled a chair up for Loki. Loki kicked it aside. If he was going to die via cardiac arrest, at least he ought to keep his pride.

But he felt the pressure lessen slowly from his chest, and his magic continue to flow calmly like a river through his body, albeit stronger than before down his left arm. He breathed easily, his head clearing and the throbbing within him subsiding.

He flexed his fingers, unburdened by the stiff surge of irrepressible magic. He let himself smile, a relieved sigh barely passing his lips, as he raised his hand to the light, the glove glinting in the light. He had power—he had control again.

"Hell yeah!" said Tony. "I told you it would work, didn't I? And you nearly didn't believe me. Give me a high five."

He raised his hand. Loki stared at it perplexedly, wondering if Tony was demanding back the glove. Wouldn't that be sorely unpractical?

"You slap my hand, Loki," said Tony. "That's a high five. That's our way of saying 'good job' or something like that."

Loki slapped Tony's hand with his glove. Tony winced as the hard metal met his palm with godly force and he immediately stuffed his reddening hand into his pocket.

"Okay, we're going to have to teach you the high five etiquette," said Tony. "But shit, this is great. This is really great. Oh God, I need some booze now. This calls for a stiff drink and cheeseburgers, seriously."

"_Sir, I'd like to inform you that Nicholas Fury is calling in," _JARVIS said.

Tony groaned. "Cut the line for me, JARVIS."

"_He insists that it is urgent._"

"You know the policy. Leave it urgently."

_"Will do, sir._ _He is leaving a voice message. Would you like to listen to it?"_

"Not exactly," said Tony. He caught Loki's look of suspicion before sighing heavily. "Okay, fine. But erase it soon after."

"_Replaying for you, sir._"

Fury's voice cut in, crackling with distaste. Loki furrowed his eyebrows at the sound of Fury, and his frown deepened as he listened further.

"—_Council is negative on your proposal, Stark, and demand you bring him in immediately," _said Fury to the voice message. "_I can only do so much and I agree, the Council makes stupid-ass decisions right, left, and centre, but they'll send people to kick down your door to drag him in. They want blood, not rationality_—"

"Mute it for me, JARVIS," said Tony.

The conversation was halted abruptly. Tony turned to Loki, stopping short at the sight of Loki's stare. He shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," said Tony. "I—it's just a tussle Fury and I are having. Nothing important—"

Before Tony could finish, Loki slammed his hand against the surface of the work table. The resonating bang made Tony jump. Loki's hand smarted considerably, but it did not compare to the boiling vexation within him. Who did Tony—who did all these mortals—think they were, lying to someone like him when they ought to know fully well he could detect it unfailingly?

Tony closed his eyes and gave a sigh, rubbing the back of his head. Suddenly the shadows under his eyes made all the more sense to Loki.

"The Council," Tony said flatly, "want some sort of justice—for the agents that died that one time when we—when you and I—that whole situation when the arc reactor didn't work. They want someone to blame. And I guess it makes sense, because people died and it was awful…but I'm trying to compromise with them. Because it wasn't your fault, no matter how anyone looks at it. You didn't try to hurt anyone, and it was my device and miscalculation that caused it."

Loki let his gaze slide to the floor, where sawdust collected like coffee rings on the gray. Blood followed his footsteps, no matter where he went. Destruction flooded everywhere he touched—was it something of coincidence? Of fate? Of his nature?

"I tried to get the Council to take away my rights," said Tony. Loki looked up sharply at this. "You know—confiscate my weapons-making for who knows how long. I should have done that ages ago, after I changed Stark Industry's industry, but I kept things around for the suit's renovation. But they refused; something tells me that they want to keep that around for me so that I can give SHIELD a hand if they want extra goodies. Bastards."

Tony spoke so casually about losing the right to his passion. It made Loki squirm.

"So now, we're just kind of back to square one," said Tony. He feigned gagging. "Seriously, the Council is full of bullshit. Did you know they were willing to nuke all of New York City to get rid of your little alien friends? And when I say nuke, it's pretty much mass destruction of everything within the area, even the civilians. Yeah, I know, stupid, right?"

Tony wouldn't look at Loki. Loki didn't blame him.

"So...you don't have to worry," said Tony. "It's not right if they try to punish you. And if they do try to kicked own my door or anything, we're blasting their asses. You're safe here, you got that?"

For a moment, Loki was seized with the desire to laugh. Had it not been a mere three Midgardian years when Tony threatened Loki and Loki threw Tony out of a window? How as it that in a matter of months together afterward they had come to this? What about these brief humans would mystify him further, make him question the direction the world turned and the reason why pieces fell into the places they belonged?

"Hey," said Tony. "Don't give me that look. I told you we Avengers would take care of you, didn't I? Or, I thought I did. If not…well, I thought it. And I tend to keep the promises I make to myself. So don't get indignant or anything."

Loki clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to hit Tony across the back of his head. Tony was trying to take the blame for crimes Loki had done with his own hand, mortals were constantly protecting and trusting him when he gave them no reason to do so, and all this for one who was far from deserving, who had no chance of repaying them after this.

"Anyway," said Tony, turning back to his coffee mug on the table. "By law, they aren't allowed to do that. I mean, I don't think so anyway. I'm no lawyer. But anyway…just trust me on this. Trust us. No one wants you to be dragged off. Not even Clint. He never actually said it himself, but we know he doesn't."

Loki parted his lips hesitantly before silently clapping a hand on Tony's shoulder, gripping it gently. Tony gave a wry smile, patting Loki's forearm to accept his discreet thanks. He shrugged it off before downing the rest of his coffee.

"Let's test that baby of yours out," said Tony, holding up the mug. "Turn this into something. Anything. I don't know."

Loki held his silver hand out. In an instant, the white mug melted into the form of a snake.

Tony dropped the adder immediately, jumping onto a nearby stool to avoid its poisonous jaws as the reptile coiled around the table leg, baring its teeth at Loki. With a snap of the fingers, the snake crumbled into black ashes.

"Can you warn me before you set loose dangerous animals in my place?" said Tony, but he was grinning despite his shock. Loki grinned and kicked at the black sand, scattering it across the floor. "Yo, you are cleaning that up, you know."

"Hey, Tony?" The door of the workroom slammed open, making Loki jump. Clint burst into the room, searching hastily for Tony. "SHIELD's calling us in, I was wondering if—"

His eyes landed on Loki and he hesitated, his outburst sapping immediately. He rooted himself to the spot, his gaze immediately sliding away from Loki and desperate to latch onto anything else. Tony raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"SHIELD wants Nat and I to report in," said Clint, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was wondering if we could borrow your car to get there."

"What, you don't want to walk in the brilliant sunshine? Get some Vitamin D or something to keep your skin glowing," said Tony.

"It's storming outside," said Clint.

"Oh. Well, tell Point Break to lighten up." Tony yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Fine, fine. But you only get the Enzo Ferrari."

"Hell yes," said Clint. "Can you tell me where the keys are?"

"You know what? I'll get them for you," said Tony. "I need an excuse to walk out of this place anyway. You sit tight."

"Wait—what?" Clint's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "No, seriously, you can just tell me where and I'll—"

"Shut up, I won't tell you or you'll steal my Lamborghini," said Tony, making his way to the door. Clint's eyes darted from Tony to Loki, who did everything to avoid his gaze.

"But—I mean—" said Clint.

"Relax. Just don't touch anything and nothing will explode," said Tony. Before Clint could squeeze out another protest, Tony departed from the lab, slamming the door shut on both Clint and Loki.

Loki immediately turned away, busying himself by cleaning up the ashes on the floor even when he could have easily dispelled it all with a blink of an eye. He carefully swept the ash into a dust pan, stretching out the time needed as long as he heard Clint shift back and forth behind him. Clint was just as uncomfortable, pretending to admire Tony's wrenches. Loki heard Clint's feet scuff the floor, pacing about the same place.

A minute later, all the sand was swept neatly in the dustpan and Loki could only pretend to try to brush in one stubborn grain for so long. He risked standing up and brushing the ashes into the trashcan, clanging the plastic pan against the can loudly to fill the silence. Clint cleared his throat, flicking the wrench with his finger.

Did Tony really have to take more than two minutes to find car keys?

"So," said Clint.

Loki paused, wondering if he heard correctly. He glanced at Clint, who was now playing with a tape ruler. Maybe he was hallucinating, that Clint hadn't said anything at all.

"Um," said Clint, banishing Loki's previous notions. "So…well."

Loki dusted his hands off, wondering if Clint wished for Loki to listen at all. He saw Clint's gaze flicker toward him and he stopped.

"You, uh…" Clint spotted the metal glove on Loki's hand. "Tony fixed you up good, huh?"

Loki flexed his fingers unconsciously. Clint hunched his shoulders instinctively, and Loki frowned.

"I guess that's pretty good," said Clint. "I mean…that's what Tony and Bruce were trying to figure out for a while. Keeping the Mind Gem quiet while you can still have magic and…use it well. And all that."

Loki nodded without agreeing to anything. He gingerly patted his shoulder. Clint blinked and looked down at his own.

"Oh…it's fine," said Clint. "A lot better now. Kind of sore-ish, but…well, can't have everything. Better than not being able to move it at all."

Clint coughed in his fist and rubbed his chin, his hands itching to do _something. _"I—never thanked you properly. For—you know. Making sure my arm doesn't get gangrene or anything. Or eat me alive. The curse, I mean. Not the arm. That would be freaky."

Loki hid a silent chuckle behind his hand. Clint bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, hands swinging aimlessly at his side as if to propel momentum to move the conversation forward, despite the recipient being mute.

"So yeah…thanks," said Clint. "I appreciate it."

Loki blinked before cracking a genuine smile, bowing his head in acceptance. Clint let out a sigh that hinted relief before running his hand through his cropped hair, surveying his surroundings.

"JARVIS told me you took all my old bows," said Clint. "Any chance I'll ever get them back?"

Loki smirked before retreating to the corner of the room to a locked cupboard. With a wave of the hand the locks snapped off and the door flew open. Several of Clint's bows were stowed inside; Loki pulled out the larger one and tossed it to Clint. Clint caught it easily, furrowing his eyebrows.

"What hocus pocus have you cast on it?" said Clint.

Loki winked and crossed his arms, leaning back as if to enjoy the show. Clint squinted at the bow, tossing it from one hand to the next. He tested the string, pulling it back before releasing it. Without warning, an arrow shot out of nowhere and sank deeply into Tony's wall. Clint yelped, stumbling back. Loki doubled over, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Clint rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop the grin on his face.

"I'm claiming this one back," said Clint. He pulled back the string and aimed the bow at a clock on the wall. He released the string and an arrow planted cleanly in the middle of the face. "God knows I need this."

"I've got the keys, Clint—" Tony re-entered the room, jangling the car keys between his fingers, before stopping short. His eyes fell on the arrows that shattered his clock and punctured his wall and his face had the look of the least amusement.

"Are you serious?" said Tony.

Clint threw the bow to Loki, who promptly threw it back.

"You little shits."

* * *

The video on the computer screen was not as clear as the images on Tony's television, and sometimes would discombobulate itself from the sound, but Thor couldn't be any more satisfied. Jane was as lovely as ever on Skype.

"—I get to talk to colleges about the theory. Colleges!" said Jane, her face shining with excitement. "And today I only saw ten students sleeping in the middle of it. That's less than twelve percent of the lecture!"

"I'm so glad to hear," said Thor, unable to contain his smile. "You must have been very busy, albeit happy."

"I was. I am," said Jane. She was in what looked like a motel room—Thor could see a simple small bed in the background with her suitcase on top of it. "Is it weird for me to say that's the part I always dreamed about when I started off studying? To have people listen to me about what I want to tell them? It sounds silly, I'm sure, but…but to see the students so eager to learn from me was just mind-blowing."

"Should it be that much of a surprise?" said Thor.

Jane laughed. "To be honest, Thor, you were probably my only eager audience for the longest time."

"Ah, but to hear your voice is sweeter than any song—"

"Thor!" said Jane, her face reddening immediately. Thor stifled laughter behind his voice.

"And your thoughts shape words more precious than all the jewels of the worlds—"

"Come on, stop, Thor!" said Jane, but she couldn't stop laughing.

Thor only spoke louder.

"And nothing can compare to your utterly breathtaking smile when your passion powers you," said Thor with a cheeky grin. "Jane, I do believe you're blushing."

Jane hid her face in her hands. "Thor, you've been taking lessons from that Fandral friend of yours, haven't you?"

"I will neither affirm nor deny it," said Thor. "I like to think that it was inspired by my own rare genius."

Jane peeked at Thor from between her fingers. "Fair enough. Though, to imagine you being smooth with words before startles me."

"Oh, how so?" said Thor.

"You weren't exactly the most articulate of people when I first met you."

"Worry not, I truly was not so sweet with my words before," said Thor. "It had always been Loki who was better with words, though when it comes to women it never really worked in his favor. I would tell you about what had once transpired between him and Sif in our youth, but he may actually kill me for that."

"Speaking of Loki," said Jane, lowering her hands. "How is he doing? Is he any better?"

Thor's smile softened, both tender and fragile upon his lips. "He is happy with the people here. I've not seen him so relaxed in a long while."

"That's really good," said Jane. "I'm so happy to hear, Thor."

"I thank you," said Thor. "It really is a joy to see this. I hope for the best."

"And his health?" said Jane. "How is that?"

Thor hesitated, his smiling wearing away. "I cannot say for sure."

"I tried looking up things on the Mind Gem," said Jane. "I found nothing. So it's not really part of anyone's mythology or study…not on Earth, anyway."

"Thank you for your efforts," said Thor. "I do not know everything about the situation but…but I have a strong notion."

"What do you mean?" said Jane.

Thor pursed his lips and gave a sidelong glance to his bedroom door, making sure it was closed.

"If something is not alive, can it still be a parasite?" said Thor.

"Not alive?" said Jane. She furrowed her eyebrows. "Well, technically no. The definition requires something alive to take from another living thing. But in general? I mean, it wouldn't be called a parasite but it would still be possible. What are you thinking, Thor? Do you think the Mind Gem is a parasite of sorts?"

"Yes," said Thor. He spoke softly, in case anyone should hear through his walls and door. "My brother's health has always been more delicate than usual since he escaped the Chitauri, but he makes it nearly unnoticeable, still fighting when he needs to and resting only when he is forced to. But I am not as ignorant as I was before. I can tell that his health is depleting, though he hides it. I know he keeps on a mask with magic, but I do not know what lies beneath. I fear it."

Jane nodded, lowering her eyes. Thor sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"Certainly I do not think he expects me to not notice it. I've seen him at his best and worst, and certainly he is not at his strongest," said Thor. "And I ask him, I watch him and try to take care of him…yet he will not tell me what is wrong. He could be rotting from the core, plagued, but he will not let me know. And he will not let me help."

"How is it hurting him, the Mind Gem?" said Jane.

"It weakens him. I can feel his energy sap from his body," said Thor. He swallowed hard. "Even with the new equipment that Stark has bestowed upon him to diminish the power of the Mind Gem, Loki does not regain his strength. I have confronted him, I have asked, I have tried to recall what I know of the Gems—but this is unprecedented, using an Infinity Gem alone to torture. I do not know what it will do to him in the end. All I know is that it is hurting him now, and I can only wish I knew what ails him…what he isn't telling me. Why isn't he telling me? Does he not trust me?"

"I don't know much about Loki," said Jane, "but I know that when people are hurt, or really ill, or going through a hard time, they want to keep it to themselves and not let anyone know. Not because they don't trust anyone, but they—well, they think they should keep the burden alone. They don't want to worry the people they care about. And sometimes…sometimes they're scared. Scared of chasing people away, or of their situation, or anything. It's hard to admit the truth when you're feeling vulnerable."

"He is afraid?" said Thor.

"I don't know," said Jane. "But from what you've told me how he's doing, I'm sure he does trust you, Thor. He loves you, but it'll take time to tell you the truth. Especially if he still doesn't talk. You can't push him into talking—sometimes that just drives people away even further."

"But it worries me deeply," said Thor.

"I think he's a little more introverted than you are," said Jane, "so talking about what goes on in his mind might be rarer and more difficult for him. I don't know Loki well enough to be sure of it, but that's my two cents."

"It is just so frustrating," said Thor. "Even in our youth he had held back much of the truth, never telling me what was wrong even though I cared, and then everyone suffered when it became something much more tragic. It is cruel of me to say it, but I fear growing cross with him."

"It's understandable," said Jane. "See…when my parents died, I didn't talk to anyone. Wouldn't tell anyone about it, and I kept pushing people away. It wasn't the greatest way of coping, but that was how I felt safest. Erik knew I was hurting, but he also knew I wouldn't talk to him about it even though he kept asking. He later admitted how distressed that made him, after things smoothed over…it's very understandable, Thor."

Thor exhaled deeply, running a hand down the side of his face. A pang of self-disappointment strengthened and as much as he wished he could hide it away under layers of distractions, it rang with inevitable and painful truth.

"How do I be a better brother?" said Thor.

"What do you mean?" said Jane. "You're already a wonderful brother. You've helped him so much already."

"I heal and protect him physically, yes," said Thor. "But all our life together—the millennia that we grew up with each other—I realized that…that I don't think I actually know Loki. I may know his quirks, his habits, what he likes and dislikes…but how and what he thinks, why he feels, the inner truth of his being and his heart, I know nothing about. I'm sure he knows me better than I know him, and it hurts because I _want _to know him—I do, but I don't know how. I wonder if he even wants me to know him."

"Have you ever talked to him about it?" said Jane.

Thor gave a wry smile. "I fear I have not. I think I'm afraid that he will tell me he doesn't want me to know him…even brothers will not always be perfect together."

"I think he'd appreciate it if you'd be honest with him," said Jane. "I never had siblings, so I'm guessing, but…I think the truth can help heal what's between you better than what hiding can ever do. Sometimes it'll hurt, and sometimes it might not go the way you want it, but hiding the truth won't help in any situation."

"And if he will not tell me?" said Thor.

"Then give him time and space," said Jane. "You can't press him to talk if he's not ready. But he may, after a while."

Thor nodded quietly, resting his entwined fingers against his rips. "I'm sorry for burdening you with all my worries, Jane. I wish I had more cheerful subjects to talk of, but these have been heavy on my mind for so long."

"It's not a problem at all," said Jane. "Everyone should have someone to talk to when they need it. You have me, and I'm sure Loki will have someone too, when he feels comfortable."

"I only wish that such a person would be me," said Thor. "I fear that it is not." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Will I ever find out what is wrong? And if I do, what if I cannot help him?"

"I can't say," said Jane. "But you'll always be able to help him. You love him, don't you?"

"Of course," said Thor.

"Then you'll take care of him," said Jane. "You'll always be there for him, because you love him. There's no handbook; loving someone isn't the first step, it's the guide."

Thor smiled. "And I thought I was the poetic one."

"I'm serious, Thor," said Jane.

"I know," said Thor. "Thank you, Jane, for caring for my brother. For caring for Loki."

"Of course," said Jane. "I want to care for him."

Thor rested his chin on his hand. "Sometimes," he said, "I fear what would happen if for some reason I died or could never be there for Loki again. If the Norns pulled us apart and I could never go to him again. What would happen to him? What if he would be lonely? What if no one would help him?"

"Thor," said Jane. "Do you think none of us would help him? Do you doubt me when I say I want to care for him?"

Thor let his head hang low, stunned and abashed.

"You won't ever leave him, Thor," said Jane. "And even if one day that must happen, Loki will be loved. Believe me—he will be loved."

Thor couldn't hide his smile—his smile of pure relief and joy and thankfulness. His heart hurt beautifully.

"You do not know how much that means to me, Jane," said Thor. He felt his eyes sting.

Jane reached out to him, her fingers just inches away—stopped only by the plastic screen and the hundreds of miles and many years of absence between them. Thor let himself place his hand upon hers—or where hers ought to be—and he imagined being side by side with her—not kissing or hugging or holding hands, but at peace. But now was enough for him.

Now was enough.


	32. Chapter 32

**So, this is the scene that started this entire story.**

** My sister was teasing me because she knew I liked Loki and Natasha and she was like, 'hey, there's this moment that happened to me in real life along with this scene in the Zorro books where yada yada happened, isn't that lovely' and I fell COMPLETELY in love with the idea and made an entire story and plot just to encompass it. So, thank you to Zorro and my sister for inspiring this entire story, and to my beautiful, beautiful readers…enjoy.**

* * *

_"So you thought you had to keep this up_  
_All the work that you do_  
_So we think that you're good_  
_And you can't believe it's not enough_  
_All the walls you built up_  
_Are just glass on the outside_

_So let 'em fall down_  
_There's freedom waiting in the sound_  
_When you let your walls fall to the ground_  
_We're here now..."_

_-Tenth Avenue North, 'Healing Begins'_

It took Natasha four times to realize it, but nighttime wasn't as repulsive as she thought.

It was once an inevitability for her, a mundane annoyance—nighttime was when she laid her head upon a pillow and filled it with nightmares, or when the slickest of murders occurred and she would have to walk barefoot along the old streets of Russia so that her heels would not clack on the cobblestone and give her away once the job was finished. She preferred daytime, when nothing was hidden from her.

But night warmed up to her when she saw _him_ in the middle of the night for the fourth time, bathed in the bright moonlight on the outer deck. And she realized that nighttime wasn't so terrible after all.

She had stayed up sketching, or the closest she came to drawing, outside in the chilly night with only the moonlight and the residue glow of Stark Tower to uncover the darkness from her paper. The pen felt unfamiliar in her hand, and her strokes were hesitant and shaky, but she had already done so much. True, the forehead was wider than she figured was realistic, and one eye just might be larger than the other, but she was almost positive that this rendition of Loki on the piece of paper was the best work she ever made. Not that it meant much, since she was far from cocky when it came to artwork, but she could recognize him herself when she took a second glance, and that was better than nothing.

She heard the glass door slide open behind her and she glanced over her shoulder. Loki was outside the door, a throw blanket over his thin shoulders to shield him from the cold. She smiled and gestured him to come to her. He obliged, drawing the blanket tighter as the chill embittered and sitting opposite of her on the bench.

"What time is it?" said Natasha. "I completely lost track of time."

Loki glanced down at the watch that Steve had bestowed him. It read eleven thirty at night. She let out a chuckle.

"Man, I've been here for two hours," she said. "Looks like I don't make as much progress in two hours as I thought."

He tilted his head to take a look at Natasha's art pad. She quickly covered it and placed it on her opposite side.

"No way," said Natasha.

The moment she saw Loki's puppy dog act begin, she slapped a hand on top of his face and laughed.

"Stop!" said Natasha. "I have more pride than that."

She felt him grin under her hand. She pulled back, revealing his beam.

"How's your magic?" she said. "Has it calmed down yet?"

Loki tapped his chest with his metal hand, the steel echoing against the arc reactor. He gave a shrug_. _

"Give it a little more time," said Natasha. "Maybe then it'll smooth over and you won't need to use the glove anymore."

Loki flexed his fingers, raising it to the moonlight and admiring its sheen. She placed her fingertips against his and he smiled. Gently—hesitantly—he let his fingers slip between hers just barely before pulling back, making her grasp at air. She hid her hand on her lap immediately, running her thumb on the spaces between her fingers to ease their craving.

"Is it even comfortable?" said Natasha.

He shrugged and nodded. She almost asked if she could try it on before remember that doing so could easily kill him.

"You've been so busy, making those weapons," said Natasha. When Loki raised his eyebrow at her questioningly, she remembered that she wasn't supposed to know. "Ah—I mean, Stark mentioned it. You were ruining his lab rooms all the time and he was complaining about it."

Loki gave her a crooked smile and she knew immediately that he had known she spied on him all along. She scowled and gave a punch on his shoulder. He grinned and fell back, raising the throw blanket to hide his face. His shoulder felt painfully sharp.

"Thor told us about Thanos' plan," said Natasha. "You know, you could ask us for help. Tony made his living making his weapons. And the rest of us make our living defending. Whatever help you need against Thanos, we're here. And we will help."

Loki bowed his head in thanks before leaning back, raising his eyes to the starry sky. There was something so perpetually majestic about him that made Natasha feel the need to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. If Thor was a prince fit for legends and proud history, then Loki was a prince of fairy tales and fantasy, of dreams she thought would never come true.

"Do they have a lot of stars in Asgard?" said Natasha.

Loki nodded, his lips barely parted.

"Same constellations?" said Natasha. "You know, stars arranged in a pattern that reminded people of stories."

Loki squinted but shook his head. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, as if to say that these stars were not unfamiliar to him, but not like the ones from home.

"I don't know if the old Norse people had constellations," said Natasha. "I think they do. But most of the ones we know of are the old Greek ones. Like that one—Orion." She took Loki's wrist and gently traced the constellation out in the sky, connecting the dots. "He was a mythological warrior, and a hero. He fought Cancer, another constellation, except I don't see that one anywhere here. And this one—"

She traced Big Dipper out for him. "That's Ursa Major. Not a Greek constellation, but in a lot of different cultures, it's a bear, or a cleaver, or a plow. No one can settle on the same conclusion. There's another one—Andromeda—except I don't think you can see her here. She's a princess whose mother chained her to a rock for a sea monster to eat her, but Perseus comes and saves her, and they fall in love."

Natasha let go of his wrist and leaned back, folding her hands behind her head. "Honestly, I have no idea how the ancient people did it. I'd never be able to find shapes in the outline of stars when there are so many of them." She turned to him. "Do you see anything familiar in the sky?"

He nodded and placed his hand on her wrist. He hesitated, his fingers itching back as if afraid he wasn't allowed to touch her. She nodded reassuringly and he wrapped his fingers around her wrist again, lifting her hand to trace his stories out in the night sky. The stories were silent, and yet she could see what he wanted to tell her—here in the sky was an eagle, another a serpent, here a doe. She once saw the night sky as a speckled mystery—he sharpened the corners and brought to light the surrealism, the fantasy.

"Makes you wonder how they came to be, the stars," said Natasha. "That there are hundreds of billions of them out there, and yet from here they look like a masterpiece. The universe is so lucky I'm not the one designing things—I'd make everything look so ugly. I have no eye for art."

He turned his head to her, raising an eyebrow skeptically. She smiled wryly before taking the art pad from beside her and turning to the page of her sketch, placing it on his lap. Loki took it, raising it to his eyes to look upon it.

"I tried drawing you," said Natasha, watching his face hungrily for a reaction. "I mean, I suck at drawing, but I figured—if you drew me once, I want to repay the favor. Voila."

Loki ran his finger along the pen lines, following the curves of the smile Natasha drew on his face. His eyes drank in the sight of himself, as happy and care-free as he once drew her, unburdened and free. They gleamed, but they were also unreadable, and she felt her heart jolt.

"I mean, I really can't draw," said Natasha. "I was never an artist—a ballerina, once, but that's about it. But I wanted to—I mean, I wanted to give to you what you gave to me. That you would be happy, and if anything, that I would be there for you when it happens."

Loki lifted his eyes to her, his lips parted as if to mouth the words he wished her to know. She offered him a smile before shaking her head, a chuckle escaping her lips.

"Except, if I had any say in it, I'd rather see the real you happy," said Natasha. "Not just on paper, where I can imagine all I want, but it'll never be as good as the real thing. I want you to be beautifully, blissfully happy—because that's what you've done for me."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and watching the distant outline of the city speckled with lights. The truth was stubborn, the truth was difficult—but telling them was the most striking feeling from inside that she had known.

"I don't know how to say this," said Natasha, "but you've changed me. In the ways I needed the most. You know so much about me. Things that I wished no one would know, but I told you. Things about me I wished were never a part of me, that I've been ashamed of, things I've feared. And you…you healed me."

She rubbed her hands together, the skin on her fingers tingling from the chill. She blew in them, letting her breath numb them. Her fingers rested against her lips in contemplation before she spoke again. Loki remained still beside her—she could barely hear him breathe.

"I've struggled with myself for so long," said Natasha. "I hated myself for nearly my whole life. I could never understand why anyone was friends with me—why Clint took care of me all this time, why Fury always checked to make sure I was safe after each mission, why the Avengers didn't shun me for my past. I never understood why. I thought I was despicable, I thought I was rotten to the core. And I had my reasons why."

She closed her eyes, breathing in deep the cool starlight. "But there were so many times I thought I could forget. People—when they wanted to care for me, they helped me forget who I was. When I was with them, I comforted myself by pretending that my past was nothing, that my past didn't matter, that I could detach myself from it and _forget. _I pretended that in a sense, I was not myself. But at the end of the day, when I was on my own, I would remember that I could never truly be apart from what I've done. I could never be apart with _myself_, and I would never be at peace."

Even in the cold night, she felt so, so warm.

"But you—" she said with a laugh. "You came along, and when I least expected it, you've changed me for the better. For good. I was finally honest with you and myself. I let you see the part of me that I hated, and you didn't try to erase me, you didn't try to make me forget—you knew it, you accepted it, you remembered it, and yet you held me so close and for the first time in my life I didn't hate myself. You of all people didn't accept me despite my past; you accepted me with it."

_Is this love, Agent Romanoff? _

Natasha long knew the answer.

"And I…I learned that I could do the same about myself," she said. "I didn't have to fear it, try to hide it…but I could accept myself here and now and learn, and grow, and…and…there was peace. I found peace, and that—I don't know if you know how much it means to me. But you've healed me, more than I could ever ask for."

Natasha rested her forehead against her fingers, letting the weight of the truth slip from her. She felt not naked, not stripped, but set free and clean in the deep night.

But then she felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart skip a beat, her blood course with adrenaline in her veins when she heard what she could not bring herself to believe.

She heard him. She heard Loki, sitting beside her, alive, near her. She heard him, the breaths he took, the gasps—she heard him crying.

She could hear him _crying. _

She raised her head to him and her heart soared until it broke. Because there Loki was, sitting beside her, clutching his arms, his lithe form trembling as sobs escaped his once silenced lips. Tears of joy, of happiness, of love and bottled pain trailed down his cheeks like falling stars. He gasped audibly, trying to breathe steadily, and he no longer hid. He cried—because for the first time, he realized he did not bring only pain, he did not only hurt or harm—that he could be _enough_ for someone and that someone was her, Natasha. That he could bring some good into someone's life.

Loki wept, and she _could hear him. _

"Natasha," Loki whispered, his voice small and delicate but the most wonderful thing she ever heard. "Natasha, Natasha…"

She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, cradling his head on her shoulder and letting his tears flow onto her shoulder. Her heart burst and she wanted to soar, to cry, to scream for joy, to float endlessly, because he was speaking to her, speaking for her. She wanted to hold him forever and hear him cry her name, because the very moment he broke was when he healed.

"Cry, Loki," she whispered. Because anyone would whisper sweet words of comfort and try to soothe him to silence, with hushed _shh shh, it's okay _to stem his tears, but she never wanted to stop hearing him. She never wanted to stop listening. "Cry. It's okay, you can do it. Oh, Loki…"

He held her tight, weeping into the crook of her neck, his entire form shaking as emotion after emotion poured out of him, sweeping the broken pieces of his heart into one place until it began to piece itself together again. She pulled him close, the corners of her own eyes stinging, and for the first time she prayed—not out of fear, or desperation, or pain that plagued her at night, but of joy—relief—thanks.

She kissed his cheeks, kissed away the tears that fell. Kissed the corner of his eyes, where the emotions spilled, kissed the top of his head when he hid his face. And she knew in that moment that no matter when or what, regardless of the where or how, she loved him. She loved him, she loved him…she loved him.

"Cry, Loki. Cry," she choked out, tears falling from her own eyes. Healing hurt, and yet she felt so serene. "I'm here. I'll always be here. Thank you, Loki. I'm so, so happy for you. Thank you."

I love you.

I love you.

_I love you._

Instead, she wept with him.


	33. Chapter 33

**Thank you guys so much for your warm response to the last chapter. I have quite the tender spot for chapter 32 and to hear that you guys really liked it warms my heart so much. You guys really are the best and I love you. Heart heart~**

**But anyway, with chapter 32 done, we have reached what I call the last stretch, or more accurately, the last sprint down a jagged mountain cliff toward a rushing white water river. There are still quite a number of chapters left, but we've got some pretty heavy stuff ahead of us. There are some more chapters ahead to which I am dying to read your guys' reactions. **

**Also, I think some people have been questioning, and I forget that not all my readers read my tumblr, so just an FYI: Syrgja in its entirety IS already finished in its writing and has been ever since New Year's. I am still playing around with the last chapter but storyline wise it's pretty much set in stone. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The first full sentence Loki said in years was, "Thank you, you idiot."

And the moment Thor heard Loki's voice and sat up from his bed, Loki was almost certain Thor's heart had stopped a little and worried that Thor would drop dead of shock that very moment and everything would be for naught.

But instead, as Loki stumbled toward Thor's bedside Thor wrestled off his covers to pull Loki close to him, holding him so tightly Loki thought he would crack. But this contact, this warmth and gentleness stunned him.

Thor choked, words struggling to escape his mouth—any sound at all—but he was shocked out of sound, rendered speechless as his heart and mind raced. The irony, Loki thought as he listened to Thor's ragged breathing of elation and astonishment—Loki spoke, and Thor was struck mute. He rubbed Thor's back, tracing circles on him with his hand, letting himself close his eyes as he sank into Thor's embrace.

"Thank you, Thor," Loki said. It hurt his throat to speak, and his lips and tongue were still unused to speech that they slurred and crackled intermittently, but he knew Thor cared not. He wished he could confess more, allow Thor to know more, but he was so tired and he didn't know if he could find the right words to squeeze all that truth into. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Thank you."

"Thank the Norns," said Thor into Loki's hair. His voice was thick and painful to the throat, painful even for Loki to hear. "Oh, Loki, you've no idea—this is—I'm so—" He let out a small, damp laugh. "Heavens, what are the words? I can't believe this. I love this. I—I—"

"You are not Silvertongue for a good reason," said Loki.

Thor laughed, ruffling Loki's hair and pulling away. He placed both hands on Loki's shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. The dregs of sleep still clung to his eyelids, after being roused in the earliest hours of the morning, but his smile was honest and bright.

"I would have you insult me all day, just to make up for all the years," said Thor.

"It will come in time," said Loki. He cleared his throat when his voice began to fail on him. "The source certainly hasn't run dry."

"Oh, how I know it," said Thor. His smile slipped away and his face softened, eyes bright and wide with relief and wonder. "I do not think you know how glad I am to listen to you again."

"Seems like most people don't expect me to know much," said Loki.

Thor let out a choked chuckle, letting his hands fall from Loki's shoulders. In truth, Loki had never expected this much joy from Thor; he did not doubt his older brother's love and loyalty, but for so long he had always expected to be silenced with a sharp interjection or a glare.

"Speak to me, please," said Thor. "Talk with me. No—it is a late hour, I do not want to tire you. But—you speak again, you are not afraid, and—oh, what do I do? I'm so joyous and yet I need to be practical. What are you doing up at this hour?"

Loki stifled a chuckle, shaking his head. "Of all the questions and—and concerns that are in your head, that is the one you choose to—to—to ask?"

His voice faltered and he coughed, trying to exercise its strength. Thor jumped back, torn between comforting Loki and taking action to do whatever need be done, if only he knew what.

"Water? Perhaps water will soothe your throat?" said Thor. Before Loki could consent, Thor bounded from his bedside to his private bathroom, where he filled a glass cup full of cold water. He immediately brought it back to Loki, not at all unlike those childhood moments when Loki was ill and Thor was more than eager to please, and Loki couldn't help but roll his eyes as he accepted it. He took a small sip, letting the water calm his sandpaper tongue and coarse throat.

"Thank you," said Loki, still bound by a stutter. "Thor, I…" His words failed him and he pressed his lips together, trying to shape the words. Speech was still a struggle, his muteness difficult to overcome like a limp from a sprained ankle. He gave a defeated chuckle before letting his head hang low.

Thor did not press on, only nodding reassuringly and giving a gentle grip on Loki's arm.

"Do not push yourself too hard," said Thor. "Take your time and save your strength. You need your rest, Loki."

"I am not so delicate," said Loki, but his eyelids were heavy from all those tears and tiredness, and he could barely spare enough breath to speak louder. He could hear retreating footsteps outside the room through the small crack of an opening of Thor's door—Natasha retreated from her post as silent moral support for Loki, giving the brothers privacy. He no longer felt anxious.

"You know how much I enjoy overprotecting you," said Thor with a crooked smile. Loki snorted and drank the rest of the water.

"I speak," said Loki. He could barely believe it himself. He nearly forgot the sound of his own voice; it was thin and grating, after what felt like a long period of fitful sleep, and his wily tongue was yet to be tamed. "I speak, I speak—what if my voice fails me? I do not want to stop or chatter the night away."

"You will not lose your tongue in the middle of the night," said Thor. "You have more will than that, I know."

"You always thought exceedingly high of me," said Loki. "It's almost worrying."

"You've yet to prove that I truly cannot," said Thor. "More water?"

"I'm sure Mother said to look after me, not serve me hand and foot."

Thor laughed, but silenced himself when it became too loud for even Tony's walls. He sighed, his eyes shining in the dark.

"I think I've done a poor job looking after you if so much has happened to you once she left," said Thor. "I've been awful at it indeed."

"Don't take the credit for my…ah, recklessness," said Loki. He rubbed his throbbing head, no doubt weakened by lack of sleep. "The both of us are still breathing, and that's more than we can promise to anyone."

"Oh, Norns," said Thor. He leaned back on the headboard of his bed, his head falling against the wall. "I sound like a pining maiden, but—to hear your voice again—"

"You certainly do sound like one."

"To hear your voice again—I'm relieved. I'm surprised—confused, even—but joyous. Loki, whoever has healed you, whoever has helped you find your words, let me name a constellation after them in commemoration. Was it Agent Romanoff?"

Loki's bottom jaw twitched. "Very astute."

"It was, was it not?" said Thor. "I'll seek bards to compose songs for her honor."

"By now, you've had them write for you entire operas."

Thor grinned, but his smile fell as he leaned forward to take a better look at Loki's face. Loki backed away immediately, his head spinning at the sudden movement.

"Are you well, Loki?"

Loki cleared his throat. "Why?"

"I—you—well, you have not uttered a word since…for so long, and now you speak as if all those years before were merely the length of an hour," said Thor. "What has changed? Is it out of peace or illness?" Thor's face paled, as if the thought that Loki finally spoke because he was minutes from dying crossed his mind.

"You worry so much," said Loki, speaking slowly to shape his words.

Thor tilted Loki's face just enough so that the light from the nightlight on the wall barely illuminated his face. His thumb trailed down the path that Loki's tears long dried upon and Loki took his wrist to quietly stop him. Thor opened his mouth, but relented to keep his silence.

"I am fine," said Loki. "Only rather lightheaded, and that is nothing."

"Are you ill?" said Thor.

"No, I'm not. So don't think about cosseting me like a pup," said Loki. He rubbed his eyes, the sockets aching as if something was pressing against the back. "Can I…may I…?" He hesitated before shaking his head. "I have interrupted your slumber. I should let us both depart to rest."

"Oh, Loki, you fool," said Thor. "Stay with me tonight, will you not?"

Loki mentally cursed himself for his verbal slip, and nearly cursed Thor for being perceptive, but liberatingly declared to hell with his insatiable, unstable pride, and let himself slide next to Thor on the bed. The left side, which he always claimed as his own when in their youth they hungered company and warmth in shivering nights. Thor pulled the covers over him and Loki scowled, despite welcoming the comfort.

"This will not be a habit," said Loki, stifling a yawn.

Thor snickered as he buried his face into his pillow. "Of course not, brother. Whatever you say."

Loki did not bother to request that JARVIS keep anyone from witnessing this nostalgia. His pride had long been shot already.

* * *

By the time Loki woke up, his head was nearly splitting. The sun had long risen, firmly set in the sky at nine thirty in the morning, and by the looks of it, Thor had been awake and away for a while. Loki pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to squeeze away the ache. Apparently lack of sleep did not hammer his head, and he wondered for a wild moment if everything from last night, from Natasha to Thor, was a mere dream and in reality he had been inebriated on Midgardian ale until he was cursed with this hangover.

He crawled out of the bed and cleaned himself in Thor's bathroom, his mind struggling to race in spite of the dull ache that barely subsided. He had spoken last night—_he had spoken—_and there was no guilt, no anger, no betrayal in the words he said. He spoke, and for once he did not hurt with his words. The thought made his heart fly, and he feared bumping too roughly against the sink or moving too quickly in case all of this was truly a dream and he would be pulled into reality.

"I am Loki," he whispered to the mirror. He watched his thin lips shape those words and heard that voice breathe life into the meaning. "I am Loki, and I can speak. And I shall speak."

His heart jolted at the thought and he swallowed hard. Fear and doubt would intermittently seize him, making him consider regretting opening his mouth, but he remembered Natasha's lips kissing his tears away and Thor's hearty embrace and he banished the thoughts.

"I am Loki, and I will not be afraid of myself," said Loki. His lips stretched into a grin when he heard it with his own ears. "I will not be afraid of anything."

He shivered—either from the wonder or from the bout of faintness or both, he did not know. He drew in a deep breath and strode from the room, down the hall, toward where the others would congregate in the sunroom.

In there were Steve and Clint, bent over their respective books in the sunlight. Loki couldn't help but wonder how grown adults such as these two could have so much leisure time. He opened his mouth, about to greet them a good morning or something along those lines, but he hesitated a second too long and the words already withered away. He clenched his teeth, berating himself mentally.

Steve looked up from his book and his face brightened. "Oh, Loki! G'morning—Bruce was looking for you, actually. He said he wanted to make sure your health was up to par, with the glove and all, you know."

"My God, did you even get any sleep last night?" said Clint. "You look like you got drugged with roofies and then got beat up with a couple of baseball bats before being dragged through grits."

Steve looked as if he didn't know whether to frown disapprovingly or look positively horrified. Loki stole a glance at his reflection on the window. He didn't think he looked exceptionally worse, but of course, during these past several decades he wasn't exactly looking up to par either.

"Are you feeling ill?" said Steve. "Maybe Bruce should check on that…I mean—" He jumped out of his seat. "We've got Advil, if you're in any pain, or Ibuprofen if you're going down with something. I don't know how well over-the-counter pills work for you, but it can't do more damage than good, right?"

"That's probably what the world thought when they still used leeches for surgeries," said Clint.

"Where is Bruce?" said Loki.

"I think we have more confidence in pills than—wait, what?"

Steve turned sharply to Loki, his eyes widening. Clint gawked, his jaw dropping. Loki couldn't help but feel a mixture of satisfaction and discomfort—satisfaction that he managed to surprise them so abruptly, discomfort that they were gaping at him like he was a fish dancing on its fins in front of them.

"Did you—? Did you just—?" said Steve.

"Holy shitballs," said Clint, running a hand through his hair.

"Wait, wait, wait," said Steve. "Loki, you didn't just—I mean…leaping lizards." He rubbed his forehead. "Loki, this is—oh my word, this is wonderful!"

He clapped a hand on Loki's shoulder and gave it a supportive squeeze. Loki had no idea how to respond to that—they acted as if he had been voted president of the entire country and was set on saving a starving nation. How did they truly care about whether or not he spoke?

"Is this real life?" said Clint. He threw his book to the ground and pressed his hands against the side of his head. "Don't tell me that all it took for him to talk was to prompt him to ask where Bruce was. We could have done that months ago."

"No," Loki said flatly.

Clint groaned inwardly and rubbed his face as if he had just stepped off a nerve-wracking roller coaster.

"Who else did you talk to? Was it Thor? Was that why he looked so happy this morning?" said Steve.

"Will you never tell me where Bruce is?" said Loki.

"Oh—right, right," said Steve, his cheeks reddening. "JARVIS, can you call Bruce here? Tell him Loki asked for him. Literally!"

It ought to unnerve Loki how Steve had as much excitement as a father holding his newborn for the first time, but he felt strangely touched by his enthusiasm. It was as if Steve had been waiting for this for a long time. Clint, on the other hand, was still utterly baffled.

"You are enthusiastic," said Loki.

"I'm not scaring you, am I?" said Steve. "It's just that…wow, I'm happy for you. I was afraid that you'd never want to talk to anyone again, and—well, that's not the case, and that's great."

Loki raised his eyebrows. All the words that Steve ever heard Loki say were words of death threats and anger. What convinced Steve that he had anything less hateful to say? He couldn't help but snort despite the smile on his face, shaking his head.

"Foolish," said Loki. "Absolutely foolish."

The sunroom's door cracked open and Loki spun around quickly. Bruce was at the door, a panting Tony right behind him. Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but Tony shoved him out of the way before planting a punch at Loki's shoulder. Loki stumbled back, confounded and partly insulted.

"You little shit," said Tony. "You're talking and you didn't freaking tell me?"

Loki jaw dropped, completely at a loss of words against his own will. Tony tried to punch him again until Loki intercepted, shoving him into Steve.

"Tony, you don't get to be the first at everything," said Bruce with a humored sigh.

"And no one considered telling me he was opening his damn mouth either?" said Tony. "I am so ashamed of you all. No martinis for any of you. _Any _of you."

"How did you find out?" said Clint.

"I happened to be in the same room as Bruce. Science buddies, remember?" said Tony. "And I was hoping that I was included in this calling, but _no_, no one tells me anything when Loki finally talks. Oh my God, can I record this? Can I put this on YouTube?"

"Tony, he isn't your newborn baby," said Bruce.

"And _this _is why no one told you," said Clint with a flourished hand gesture.

"I apologize, Tony," said Loki. "And when I learn how to take my first step and use a chamber pot on my own, I will be sure to tell you."

Tony gawked at Loki, as if he had sheltered doubt that Loki actually was beginning to talk, before a banana-wide grin dawned upon his face. He reached up and—before Loki could stop him—ruffled Loki's hair.

"This kid's a sassy little Bambi," said Tony. "It's official. He really is my newborn baby."

"Oh, God," said Clint.

"How are you feeling, Loki?" said Bruce, forcing the conversation back on subject. "Are you feeling all right ever since the glove and arc reactor?"

"What the hell got him to start talking?" Tony said before Clint tackled him to shut him up.

"Fine," said Loki. "I'm fine. And…" His words lingered, but he brushed his headache aside. He could withstand a migraine, if anything.

"Are you sure?" said Bruce. "No energy depletion? Weakness?"

"Does Thor know?" said Tony.

"I'm perfectly fine," said Loki.

"This is coming from the guy who tried dragging himself out of a medical bay with only one functioning arm," said Bruce.

"Yes, thank you for reminding me," said Loki, his eyebrow twitching.

Bruce shrugged, unable to suppress a satisfied smile. "My point. But really, Loki…it's great to hear you talk again. It really is."

"We just need to hear him laugh now," said Tony. "Or sing. Or scream. Then we've got Loki back."

Loki rubbed his temples, his eyes stinging. He turned to the wide window where the sunlight bodily pressed against, pretending that the blinding light made his eyes sting.

"Let me check your throat," said Bruce. "You haven't talked in a long while and you sound a little unwell still."

"I don't think a worn throat will inhibit me greatly, Doctor," said Loki. He pressed a hand against his eyes, trying to squeeze the smarting from his eyelids.

"Where's Natasha and Thor?" said Steve. "Do they know yet?"

"I bet Thor's handing out free cigars somewhere," said Tony. "Natasha is still sleeping, I thought."

"Well, once everyone's all settled in here, let's have some sort of—"

"Let's talk about Thanos," said Loki.

Even without seeing anyone, he could feel all gazes turn to him.

"I thought you told Thor everything," said Steve.

"Barely," said Loki. "And even if I told him everything I know, that is not _everything_."

He felt as if Mjölnir was ramming against the inside of his skull and he leaned against the wall, trying to keep himself from falling. Someone put a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it away immediately.

"He is not a beast hibernating until the spring and rouses to rage," said Loki. "Something happens now. It happened yesterday, and it will happen soon. He—"

His voice caught in his throat when his heart punched his chest so painfully he nearly stumbled forward. He clenched his teeth, trying to swallow down a gasp of surprise and pain. His head spun and he feared that it would spin right off his neck and whiz into space like the Captain's shield.

"Loki?" said Steve. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," said Loki. His jaw refused to move and he had to force the bones to let the word out.

"No, you're not," said Bruce. He put a supporting hand on Loki's arm and firmly pulled him from the wall. "What's hurting?"

"Nothing," said Loki. "Don't be silly." He jerked his arm away from Bruce. He didn't understand—was he ill? Did the arc reactor not work? His blood felt cold when he understood that it was not his heart twisting in his chest in pain, but the Mind Gem—muzzled, chained, and half-mad.

"_You _shouldn't be silly," said Bruce. "Tony, help me take out this arc reactor. I think it's reacting badly."

"_No_!" Loki pushed Bruce away, a little too roughly. He clenched his teeth in immediate regret, but he kept a protective hand on his chest. "No—don't take it out." He closed his eyes, shuddering when a wave of unnatural pain erupted from his chest. "I must be ill. My magic is not used to being free. I've experienced this before."

"Should we get Thor?" said Steve. "Would he know what to do?"

"Don't bother, he wouldn't understand magic if it slapped him in the face with Gungnir," said Loki. He swallowed hard, tasting blood and vomit. "I should go."

"Let me follow you," said Steve, pursing his lips.

"I am not a child," said Loki. "I don't need people dogging my footsteps."

"We aren't dogging your footsteps," said Steve. "What if you get ill halfway? What if—?"

Loki couldn't stand to listen to the rest of what Steve had to say. He pushed his way out of the room and staggered to the closest washroom, clutching the side of his head as if that was all it took to keep it upright on his neck. He locked the door behind him and let out a gasp, swallowing air before he could drown.

He forced himself to look at the mirror above the sink, knocking over soap bottles and incense candles as he struggled to keep himself standing. When he locked eyes with his reflection, he wanted to scream. The green that he claimed, the green eyes, flickered. Blue speckled his irises like violent fireworks, pulsing with as many threats as a disease underneath a microscope. When blue grew stronger, his sight faded—his heart raced—he was losing control.

He breathed heavily—ragged gasps as he tried to force his mind into his own hands. Thanos banged at the doors of Loki's consciousness like a foreign army trying to break down the castle gates. The Mind Gem curdled in depowered rage, yowling like a tortured victim as the arc reactor crushed its hunger, and tried to tear Loki apart in its attempt to free itself to let Thanos manipulate it to his will.

Loki struck himself in the chest. His ribs shuddered and the Mind Gem thrashed in protest. He hit again—and again—trying to banish Thanos from his body. He felt Thanos' influence try to seep into his senses, forced back painfully by the arc reactor until it bottled up inside his chest like firepower. He let out a sharp gasp and doubled over, keeping himself on his feet with his elbows against the counter.

"No more, Thanos," Loki said.

He bared his teeth; his reflection looked feral.

"You lose," said Loki. "You will lose, you lose, _you lose._"

Another sharp pain ensnared his senses and he drove his fist onto the marble counter to regain his control. He fought to breathe before being submerged in a fit of lost control. He could feel the edges of his mind fray as the Thanos' influence tore at the seams. He let out a growl, clutching both sides of his head, his limbs shaking with tampered power.

Thanos could not know what Loki knew. If he knew what Loki saw, he would know what Loki thought. If he saw what Loki knew of his plans, then—

He opened his eyes and he found himself on the ground, his limbs convulsing. He didn't recall falling and he panicked.

"Get up, Loki," he said. "Come, you can manage at least that on your own. Up!"

He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself onto unsteady feet. He could barely support himself. He thought he could hear Thanos' voice in the back of his mind, although the words were inaudible. The color of his eyes flashed like madness.

"Enough," Loki said in a haggard voice. "Enough—you are weaker than I."

His eyes flashed bright blue and his sight blacked out. He gave out a yell and slammed his fists against the glass. He heard the mirror splinter and relished the feeling of pain in his skin—the sensibility of senses.

"You lose," Loki said through gritted teeth. "You try to use me, but I am not your tool. Do you understand me, Thanos? _I am not your tool._"

The pain swelled in his chest and he fought. He did not hear the insistent banging on the bathroom door as he drove his fist over and over again into the mirror, trying to subdue his own power to rein in the Mind Gem's.

"Do you hear me?" said Loki. "Listen to me speak. I have beaten you—and you know I am a threat now. You know and you will try to be rid of me even earlier than you have planned but _you will be defeated._"

A wave of nausea hit Loki and darkness swallowed him. He felt his knees meet painfully with the bathroom tiles and he clung to the edge of the sink. The moment he fell, the door was kicked open with a resonating thud, shocking Loki back into his senses. Clint burst into the bathroom, weapon at hand and a blazing look on his face.

"What's happening?" said Clint. "What's attacking you?"

Clint saw the shattered mirror and Loki's bleeding hands and he immediately dropped his weapon. He roughly grabbed Loki's wrists, trying to still him. Loki kept his gaze wide and away from Clint, in case the arc reactor failed.

"Thanos is nosing his way in again," Loki said with a dry chuckle. He swallowed down the pain. "Arc reactor—not making it easy for either of us."

"Guys!" Clint shouted, trying to calm Loki down. "Guys, a little help in here!"

Something screamed in Loki's head, but he couldn't force the voice away. He couldn't understand what it said, but it pounded against his ears and infected his thoughts until he couldn't tell what was his and was not. He swallowed down vomit.

"No," said Loki. "Don't let them in—don't let me see them."

"What?" said Clint. "Look, if you think I want to handle you on my own—"

"He might see them," said Loki. He had to cough out the words.

"Why is this happening?" said Clint. "What about the arc reactor?"

"It only stops Thanos, not put an end to him," said Loki, trying to catch his breath between the bouts of suppressed pain. "A roof may keep the rain from falling on your head, but that does not stop it from falling."

A revelation shocked Loki in the back of his mind and he nearly gave a cry. What had they done last time Thanos possessed him? And where was his own mind?

"Stay back, guys!" Clint said as bounding footsteps neared the bathroom. "Stay back—Loki says it might be dangerous if you come."

"What's going on?" said Bruce's voice. "Clint, tell us what's happening."

"Thanos is trying to probe into Loki," said Clint. He held up his hands as if to calm a wild animal as Loki's body jerked in pain. "I don't know if Thanos has a chance of getting through, but—"

"Barton," Loki said suddenly. Clint jumped, as if not expecting Loki to ever say his name. "Barton, do you trust me?"

"Not if you ask that," said Clint.

"Well, you're going to enjoy this nonetheless," said Loki. He put a free hand on the arc reactor, his fingers digging into the metal. "I need you to strike me."

Clint sputtered. "_What_?"

"Thanos will not stop until he finds a way through," said Loki. "A stalemate doesn't end until there's a defeat. I will give him false security—and then you have to force him out."

"Hell no," said Clint. "Last time I had to deal with you as Mr. Puppet I nearly got my skull bashed in."

"Well, apologies for being a little selfish," said Loki. "I personally would prefer a quick and good bash on the head than this drawn-out misery."

"Just do it, Clint!" Natasha forced herself into the doorway.

Loki groaned and forced his gaze away, hoping that Thanos did not sense her. Suddenly, the idea of letting Thanos into his body for even a second was more daunting than Loki first realized.

"What if I freaking kill him?" said Clint.

Loki let out a gasp when a surge of pain nearly throttled him. Clint let out a yell of frustration before roughly grabbing the side of Loki's head.

"Just get it over with!" said Clint.

Loki gritted his teeth and wrenched out the arc reactor. Immediately, blackness overtook him—rushing sounds and color in a flash of a millisecond—his being lifted from his body until he was essentially formless—

It suddenly became frigid, as if something was trying to freeze his flesh into ice. It reminded him of Jotunheim, but crueler.

And then—

He saw a dim kingdom, metallic and square like a prison. He heard a roar, a wave of voices like a storming ocean surrounding. He looked—tried to look in that second—a crowd. A crowd of creatures—warriors—_an army. _With weapons so foreign and deadly and armor so sharp—he didn't know if he recognized them except in stories—in fear—in nightmares—

And then, blackness. Excruciating pain on the side of his head that made it hard to breathe. The roaring muddled into thin voices, cloudy from the dizzying pain. He felt something touch his forehead and he groaned when it triggered sharp pain in his skull.

Someone was shaking him and he wished they could just _stop _because didn't anyone know it was improper etiquette to shake a body with a splitting headache?

He forced his eyes open and realized with surprise that he was lying on his back. Natasha, Clint, and Bruce were standing over him and he wondered just how much time passed between him tearing out the arc reactor and now. Clint, he noted, was sporting a bloody nose.

"Congratulations, Clint," said Bruce. "I think you gave him a concussion."

"He literally asked for it," Clint said, stemming his bloody nose with a wad of toilet paper.

"Thor," Loki choked out. "Where is Thor?"

"Keep your eyes on Bruce, Loki," said Natasha, putting her hands on his shoulders. Loki's gaze darted to Bruce just before Bruce shined a light into his eyes. Loki groaned at the stinging brightness before Bruce tucked the light away.

"Yep, definitely concussed," said Bruce. "Nice swing you got there, Clint."

"I wasn't fast enough," said Clint, throwing away reddened tissues. "Thanos gave me a right hook first thing before I hit him."

"My condolences," said Loki, closing his eyes to will the pain away.

"Keep your eyes open," said Bruce. Loki groaned and opened one eye reluctantly. "Don't be like that. Here—keep your eyes on Natasha. Just make it your day's goal to keep _awake_."

Loki lifted his eyes to Natasha. She nodded encouragingly, sliding her hands underneath his aching head to cushion them from the cold bathroom floor.

"I need to speak with Thor," said Loki. "It was like before—I caught a glimpse of what Thanos saw as he caught sight of what I saw. I must—it is urgent."

"He's straight out of a Harry Potter book," said Clint in awe.

"JARVIS, can you call down Thor here, please?" said Bruce. "And Loki, do you want some ice for your head, or do you want to heal it yourself?"

"I'll heal it myself," said Loki, reaching out to fix the arc reactor back on his chest.

"Are you sure?" said Bruce.

Loki scowled at the doctor. "I'm perfectly capable."

He wondered if Bruce somehow was able to see past the glamour. He placed a hand on his head and let his power flow into his skull, soothing the battered head until the pain ceased. He propped himself up on his elbows, his head still spinning from the impact, as Natasha helped him into a sitting position.

"What is going on?" Thor rushed into the bathroom, confused and disheveled. "JARVIS informed me that—Barton, what happened to your nose?"

"Don't worry about it," Clint said. "No, I said don't _worry_ about it," he said as Loki reached out to heal his nose.

"Thanos tried to probe into Loki through the Mind Gem again," said Bruce. "The arc reactor managed to keep him from doing so, but couldn't kick him out for good, so we—"

"Thor," said Loki. "The Kree. Thanos has allied with them. And they are marching to Jotunheim right now."

The blood drained from Thor's face. Natasha, Bruce, and Clint exchanged uncertain glances.

"What are the Kree?" said Natasha. "What does that mean?"

"That means," Thor said, "the war is already beginning."

* * *

"Well," said Tony. "That escalated quickly."

The Avengers and Loki sat pow-wow style on the bathroom floor, despite the drops of blood on the tiles from Clint's bloody nose and the bits of broken mirror still clogging the sink. Tony had sworn that he was going to give every member a bill for all the damage that they inflicted on the tower, but his threats subsided when he realized what had transpired. Clint was dabbing a wet cloth on the back of his neck, still refusing any extraterrestrial help for his nosebleed.

"Does that mean that Thanos changed his plans?" said Steve. "He's not attacking two months from now but…sometime as soon as in the next two weeks?"

"He is very close to Jotunheim by now," said Loki. "Unless he plans on scouting the area for so long and with the risk of being caught, he probably intends to move soon."

"And Jotunheim is…?" said Bruce.

"Home of the Frost Giants," said Thor. "One of the Nine Realms of Yggdrasil."

Loki pretended to be very interested in his fingernails. Thor cast a sidelong glance at him and bit his lip.

"What's so special about the Kree?" said Tony.

"They are another interplanetary race," said Thor. "They are humanoid in form, but highly advanced in their technology and military. They adapt accurately to any given environment and are a formidable force."

"Why would they join ranks with Thanos?" said Clint. "All he wants is to destroy everything. Gath—I mean, the Chitauri seemed to think that they would reign over everything alongside Thanos, and pledged their allegiance to him. Why would the Kree want anything to do with him?"

"Not so long ago, nearly all of the Kree had been annihilated by an outside force," said Thor. "Only a handful of them remain now. Surely Thanos promised them some sort of redemption or kingdom to rebuild in exchange for their loyalty. No doubt they will only receive death."

"How dangerous are they?" said Steve.

"Dangerous enough for us to be concerned," said Loki. He drew his knees to his chest. "Truthfully, any force under Thanos' command is formidable."

"How many are there?" said Clint. "About a hundred?"

"Less. There were less," said Loki. "But one Kree can have the power influence men to their bidding… even drain the life force out of them. The female Kree, anyway."

Natasha let out a low whistle. "Talk about femme fatale."

"What pisses me off is that the arc reactor stopped Thanos from coming in, but at the same time it didn't," said Tony, flicking a piece of broken mirror against the bathroom wall. "The moment I thought I finally one-upped the son of a bitch…"

"What if Thanos keeps trying to force his way into you?" said Clint. "You're going to lose half your brain cells at this rate."

Loki gritted his teeth. "Yes. Thank you for saying it like that, Barton."

"But Jotunheim," said Steve. "If they're attacking Jotunheim soon…they'll be nowhere near ready. With a week or so worth of notice? Would they have the ability to fight Thanos off?"

"They'll be fine," Loki said.

"No, they will not," Thor said, his voice stiff. Loki looked away. "They are without a standard army or their powers. They will fall if Thanos comes to them."

"Then they fall," Loki said. "There is little we could do for them."

"Is that the truth, Loki?" said Thor.

"They have nothing to do with me," Loki said. "And I have nothing to do with them. We never did, never have, and never will."

"Loki, listen to yourself," said Thor. Loki gripped his knees. "Listen to you speak this cruelty. You claim to hate the Frost Giants, even after all this time, but it truly is Laufey that holds your anger. Don't deny it," he added when Loki turned sharply to Thor. "Frost Giants have offended us just as much as they had to defend themselves from us, and we no different. But your heart is bitter towards Laufey and what he has done to Asgard…and to you."

"This has nothing to do with me," said Loki. "What will be done will be done, whether I care for them or not. Either anything or nothing can prepare them for Thanos, so what more can we do for them?"

"I know you have the Casket," Thor said.

Loki 's eyes flashed dangerously.

"It's mine," said Loki. "It's more of my birthright than anything else."

"I never accused you of stealing," said Thor, furrowing his eyebrows. "Only that you possess great power…power that does not have to only destroy."

"It may if it is in the wrong hands," said Loki.

"You cannot say that about every Frost Giant—"

"They left _me,_" said Loki, his voice sharpening. "They left me to die, they abandoned _me_. Forgive me if I am tempted to return the favor."

Thor quieted, his face drawn with inexplicable sadness. Loki leaned back against the tub, fists gripped protectively. He felt the perplexed gazes of all the others in the room fixed upon him and he forced himself to only look upon Thor, daring him to argue.

"You've banished Laufey," Thor said. "But you have yet to banish your ghosts."

"I don't see how you are one to talk, Golden Prince," said Loki.

"Do not direct your anger of Jotunheim to me, Loki," Thor said, his voice stern. "It will ease nothing."

Loki clenched his teeth but swallowed his verbal spitfire. Steve shifted awkwardly beside him, the tense atmosphere becoming stifling. Even Bruce looked fully aware how out of place they were in between the brothers.

"You should see Jotunheim now, brother," Thor said quietly. "Did you know, that when I visited the queen during one of the truce meetings, I saw her children? Two boys, only a handful of winters old, and they reminded me of us. Playing together, watching the foreign kingdom with wide-eyed curiosity…one of them was very small, Loki. So, so small...and loved."

"Be quiet," said Loki.

"Jotunheim did not ask for warriors of size and strength for a prince, they asked for a child," said Thor. "Laufey was one king, and no father. But that was all he was. He was—and is—no kingdom."

Loki bit down on the tip of his tongue, trying to understand how exactly it was that Thor—Thor, who boasted of slaughtering all the Frost Giants, who pummeled one in the chest just for an insult, who scorned them with his tongue—had grown to care for them more than all the wisdom and years of Asgard combined.

"…So," said Tony, ever the one to break the silence. "We've got a bunch of aliens trying to destroy the entire universe."

"The Nine Realms," said Thor.

"Isn't that pretty much the entire universe?" said Clint.

"Well, the Kree and the Chitauri don't live in a vacuum, do they?" said Loki.

"Okay, if we have to be all technical," Tony said. "Destroy the parts of the universe that we remotely care about. I don't know if it's one by one or if he's planning some Armageddon at once—"

"Most likely all at once. At least, the outer realms will be attacked first," said Thor. "Thanos would want the job done quickly."

"What about Earth?" said Clint.

"Knowing Thanos," said Loki, "he would save Midgard for later. To taunt the Realms with hopelessness when the most powerful realms are taken first." He caught the reproachful stares of the mortals and shrugged. "That is the general opinion of mortals in the Nine Realms. Do not blame me for a common stereotype."

"That makes things easier," said Steve. "So at least we'll have time to come back to Earth after helping you guys out and—"

"I'm sorry—I beg your pardon?" said Thor.

"_What_?" said Loki.

Steve blinked perplexedly at Loki and Thor, both who stared at him as if he spoke in tongues without warning. None of the other Avengers seemed the least bit perturbed—at least, they did not seem bothered by what Steve said, but instead by the brothers' reactions.

"What do you mean by 'come back to Earth?'" said Thor.

"After we help you guys in—Yodel-heil and Ass-Guards or whatever they're called," said Clint. "What else?"

"Absolutely not," said Loki.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up here," said Tony. "Are you telling me that you didn't expect us to help out when an intergalactic war breaks loose?"

"We expected you to stay on Earth where you belong," said Loki, "helping to defend your _own_ home and your _own_ people while the rest do the same."

Natasha's eyebrow twitched. "Looks like we just had a really long bout of miscommunication."

"Now wait just a moment," said Thor, holding up a hand. "You all are mortals. How do you expect to survive on a realm outside of your own?"

"You seem to forget the fact that the Chitauri weren't able to take over the planet three years ago for a reason," Bruce said, raising his eyebrows.

"That was not how I wanted that to sound like," said Thor. "But the other realms are drastically different from Midgard. You have no advantage of knowing your own realm. You do not even have transportation."

"That's where we sort of hitchhike on whatever ride you're taking, Point Break," said Tony.

"This is ridiculous," said Loki. "You will not leave this realm."

"I'm sorry, but are you giving us _orders_?" Natasha said.

"Midgard needs you all," said Thor.

"Don't you need us too?" said Steve.

"Midgard needs you _more_," said Loki. "Do not leave your home defenseless."

"It won't be defenseless because we're going to kick Thanos' ass before he reaches it," said Tony. "Don't you see? If we want to stop Thanos, we want to stop him early in the game, not wait around on the chance that he already offed all of you aliens and is heading straight to us."

"And if our predictions are wrong?" said Loki. "If Thanos strikes Midgard first and 'Earth's mightiest heroes' are conveniently absent?"

"Then we go back," said Steve. "And you two will probably come with us. Why? Because for some odd reason you two always help a realm that in all honesty doesn't affect you in the slightest way, and you don't expect us to want to do the same."

"That is different," Thor said. "It is Asgard's duty to protect Midgard."

"I'm pretty sure we could fend for ourselves, considering past events," said Clint.

"What, then?" said Loki. "You will throw yourselves into a war you've never seen—war against not only the Chitauri, who are stronger and fiercer than they were years ago, but also the Kree, Thanos, whoever else he picks up—and expect to come out unscathed?"

"Do you really think that we'll sit around doing nothing while you and Thor and the rest of the universe goes into battle?" said Natasha. "You expect us to be perfectly content where we are when you all could be _dying _somewhere?"

"I see how much confidence you have in our success," said Loki.

"I see how much confidence you have in ours," Natasha said.

Loki clenched his teeth as Natasha glared at him with daggers for eyes. She was radiant in her anger, like a supernova, which was more terrifying than it was appealing. But couldn't she understand? Couldn't any one of them understand the gravity of the situation? They were signing themselves for absolute warfare, for pain and torture—for death.

And like hell he would just stand aside and _let _them.

"This conversation is finished," said Loki, standing up from the floor.

"Oh, hell no," said Natasha, jumping to her feet. Everyone below them bristled uncomfortably at the growing tension between the two of them. "Don't walk away from this and expect that it settles the matter in your favor."

"Your persistence is admirable," said Loki. "But very little can change my mind."

"What can, then?" said Natasha. "What will finally make you see that we want to help and we _can_ help? What can change your opinion on anything?"

"The Void," Loki said. His voice was cold. "A hundred and more years of uncertainty and oblivion. Experiencing Thanos' wrath firsthand and understanding that he will not—and he _shall not—_hesitate in inflicting the same horrors and death on any of you. That is enough to make my mind."

The silence stilled in between them—stunned speechlessness. Natasha's fists and jaw were clenched, but Loki could see the raging thoughts and emotion in her eyes and suddenly he felt too closed in, too cramped in this bathroom of people after he let his thoughts balloon and take up too much space. Without another word, he pushed his way out of the bathroom—running away.

That was his answer for everything, wasn't it? Running away? Trying to avoid the truth by pushing himself as far away as possible?

_This is settled. This must be settled. They cannot fight for us._

Loki ducked into his bedroom, fully aware that he was acting like a cantankerous child. Why did they so insist on coming? Did they fancy themselves as heroes of all Nine Realms, with one Pyrrhic victory against the Chitauri as proof of their invulnerability? Loki wished he could laugh at the foolishness, if it wasn't so dire that they truly thought they stood a chance against Thanos and his army.

That anyone stood a chance against Thanos and his army, really.

Loki closed his eyes, trying to force away a grimace. Thanos was no Other, no Destroyer, and certainly no him. He admitted his planning of the battle in New York City was a shoddy one at most, but Thanos was no fool. If battle and slaughter meant Death's favor, Thanos would not fail.

Loki could feel Thanos' hands on him right now and he tried not to hurl.

He ran both hands through his hair, trying to regain his countenance. This was not a battle for mortals. This was not a battle for anyone, but someone had to fight it if they wanted to just stand a _chance. _That was all they had—they had no powers that Thanos could not counteract, no strength that Thanos could not overpower, no allies that Thanos could not easily vanquish. All they had was an offhand _chance_ that the Norns would be merciful, and nothing more.

And if all Nine Realms fell, he would rather that the Avengers—the ones that protected him, that cared for him for all this time when he had done nothing, absolutely nothing to deserve it—live blissfully the rest of what little time was left in oblivion and at home, with the ones they loved. Let the heavens crash upon Midgard when Asgard fell and Thanos conquered them, but let Midgard live in naïve peace for just a little longer.

Just a little longer.

_(What happened to you on Earth that turned you so soft?)_

Loki opened his eyes, staring at the bedroom window that overlooked the city. Suddenly his heart panged at the realization—he did not think that they would win. It was hard to picture victory against Thanos when Loki had lost time and time again underneath him for so long. And now the Realms that he loved—had grown to care for—will die.

That was when he caught Natasha's reflection in the glass and his heart jumped to his throat.

Giving a sigh, he turned around. She was at the doorway—not angry, not yelling, but he couldn't read her. And that distressed him more than any vicious word.

At first they said nothing, only watching each other cautiously, before Loki finally gestured for her to come in. She closed the door behind him silently and he only then understood how gruffly he had spoken to her—and to everyone, for that matter.

"I shouldn't have been so rude," said Loki.

Natasha gave him a half smile. He looked away, pretending that there was nothing else left in his mind.

"Neither should I," she said.

"But that doesn't mean I change my mind," said Loki.

"I know that," said Natasha. "But you should also realize that just because you don't agree with something, doesn't mean any of us are going to comply."

"The hearts of mortals are always so stubborn," said Loki.

"As if you immortals are any different," said Natasha.

Loki gave a small chuckle, crossing his arms as if cold. His laugh subsided quickly when he sensed the immovable seriousness in her.

"Why?" he said. "Why do you insist on coming?"

"Because we want to help you," said Natasha.

"What for?" said Loki. "You owe us no debt. We owe you one, if anything. You have no obligation."

"Is everything rules and regulations in Asgard?" said Natasha. "We want to help you because we care about you. We care about your home, we care if it's your people that have to lay their lives down to protect the rest of us. If it's you that have to lay your life down for us."

"Well, I know Thor and I aren't exactly apathetic to you and the others," Loki said, "so why do you think we do not want you in harm's way?"

"I'm not saying what you feel about it is irrational," said Natasha. "But we've been fighting together—all of us together—for all this time. We've helped each other out all this time. Are we going to give it all up now?"

"You seem to think that this will be a goodbye," Loki said, his voice hollow.

"No," said Natasha. "I don't want it to be. But this is Thanos we're talking about. This is—this really is a war of the worlds. And if you're going to be worlds away, what certainty do I have that you'll be okay? That you'll—maybe you will come back?"

She wanted him to come back. The thought made Loki hurt inside.

"It seems that my many months of playing the role as a docile kitten have made you underestimate me," he said.

"Loki," said Natasha.

"I have my strength and power. I can withstand battle. I've done so for a millennium or two," said Loki. He knew he was playing devil's advocate, but he had to push her away. Just a little farther. "I've faced Thanos before. I know how to endure him. But you and the rest of the Avengers—you've never seen his wrath. And if you can go through your whole life without having to, I will keep it that way."

"What we see and don't see in this life is up to us, not you," said Natasha. "And if seeing Thanos also means seeing you fighting, and alive and safe, then I'll take the package deal."

"You don't understand," Loki said, and how it hurt to speak. "You don't understand—this will not be an epic battle where you can watch in the sidelines and expect a clean victory—"

"One, I don't expect to be anywhere near the sidelines," Natasha said. "And two, don't you think I know a thing or two about a war? Sure, you may say that the Chitauri battle in New York City is nothing, but we _beat_ it."

"Out of sheer luck that you had a weapon of fire flying toward the city in that very instant," said Loki, "with the off chance that you had an opening and the ability to close the portal to the Chitauri headquarters light years away from Midgard according to your timing. If you did not have Lady Luck on your side, you would have failed."

"You underestimate us," said Natasha. "If that is how you think we are—if you think we're that _incompetent_—"

"I never said that," said Loki.

"—then why would you leave us on Earth to fend the planet from Thanos' army? Is it because you expect Asgard's forces and your own to finish off Thanos before Earth is even under a threat? Do you think Asgard will be able to _fly to our rescue _like we're just helpless ants who can't do anything to protect ourselves?"

"Natasha," Loki said.

"Or is this some crazy self-sacrificial ritual that you Asgardians like to do?" said Natasha. "You are going to put yourselves on the line—to kill yourselves—for the sake of all the realms?"

Loki knew that she was speaking out of anger, out of sarcasm, but he also knew that she strayed too close to the truth than he wanted. When he said nothing, her face paled and her sharp words shuddered.

"Loki," she said. "Don't tell me—you don't actually think that—"

"It doesn't matter what I think," said Loki.

"All this time," she said. Her voice was dangerously quiet. "All this time, you expected the battle to lose. That you would leave us and—that would be it."

"That doesn't mean that will be the truth," Loki said. He was saying anything now, anything that would come to mind—because he didn't want it to be true, even if his mind would not let him convince himself of anything else. He didn't want the worlds to fall, he didn't want to leave everything behind—he didn't want to die. He didn't want anyone to die.

"And you," Natasha said, "expected the rest of us to sit quietly and wonder where the hell you and Thor went?"

"I will not watch you burn for the sake of a world that isn't yours," said Loki.

"Oh, and yet you don't mind if I do the same?" said Natasha. "Loki, I watched you get attacked by Chitauri. I watched you when you were unconscious for five days, wondering if one day we would realize you would never wake up. I watched you take blow after blow for me, even though you and I both know I can take a bad hit on any day. Loki, _look at me._"

Loki raised his eyes to Natasha. She came to him and put her hands on his arms. He wished she wouldn't, else he felt compromised—that he would make any decision just so she would not let him go.

"If we fight together and we win," she said, "then we win, and the rest is history. But if we lose—we lose together. And we won't be alone. We won't be afraid. Because we'll all be together, and I won't have it any other way. We're a team, Loki. A family. We're more than a family. We're—"

Loki gripped Natasha by the shoulders, pulled her close and—all of a sudden—he was seized by the desire to kiss her. She was so close, mere inches away to the point where he was certain he could hear her heartbeat, and he wished to melt into her, be with her—but he couldn't.

His heart shattered and he couldn't because he knew that nothing could ever be. There was no living together, no dying together—for as long as he was who he was, as long as the Mind Gem and its poison could never leave him, and she was who she was, there was nothing for them. She was a sun, waiting to burn out bright, and he had long diminished, faded from existence, waiting for his lights in their place in the sky to die.

Gently, he backed away. Natasha stood trembling in the spot, her eyes searching desperately for an answer—an explanation—on his face. He closed his eyes, as if to imagine the darkness when he would finally fall from life. Because even if Thanos was beat—even if they won—Loki would not. Natasha would return to Midgard and he—in a month's time, a year, perhaps no more than ten, he would be gone and forgotten. She would have to move on, no doubt, and one day he would cease to exist in her memory. In death, he would neither be truth nor fact—a mere story or fantasy that may as well be a lie, as he has always been his entire life. If he was a lie, then love made him real, because this pain it gave him was enough to convince him he was alive—that he had a heart at all.

She slowly raised her hand, and for a moment Loki thought that she might strike him. Instead, she held it up, fingers outstretched, the thinnest tremor running through her bones. His heart leapt and he held out his own—long, white fingers and thin veins along the back. He brushed his fingertips against hers before letting his fingers slip in between. She closed the space between them, wrapping her fingers around his and holding him tightly. She was so warm in his hand, and now his fingers no longer felt so alone.

_I will follow you, _said the lines in her palm against his. _To victory, to death, into the dark. I'll follow you._

He clasped her hand so tight. He knew not what death was—whether it was Valhalla or Helheim, or nothing at all, but he cared not. If they would just grant him the warmth in his hand, such as now, he will come.

"Loki," said Natasha.

Loki lightly touched her knuckles. They were rough and perpetually scabbed.

_Do I know you?_

"Tell me," she said.

"Of what?" Loki said.

"Everything," said Natasha. "Everything you kept in all this time, that you wanted to say but couldn't let out. I'll listen."

_Trust me._

"I don't know how," said Loki. He laughed shakily. "I never did before."

Even with all the power in its bones Natasha's hand felt so delicate in Loki's. He could shatter it if he wasn't careful, and he almost let go.

"You're safe here," said Natasha. "You're safe with me."

He gave her a crooked smile.

"Do you mean to save me, Natasha?" he said. For a moment, he wished she said yes.

She said nothing, but she held on tighter to him, fingers enclosed in his, and that was enough.

What if she was disgusted?

What if she was afraid of him?

What if he made her cry?

What if…

But she looked at him so full of want and trust—and thought him whole after all this time, always.

He spoke.


	34. Chapter 34

**Get ready for a chapter filled with saccharine. I promise, the plot speeds up by a ton by next chapter. I just couldn't help myself with this one. There's a war coming, truly.**

**And just to give you guys some incentive to stick around: the rest of the chapters in this story are leaning toward the long side (if that's what you guys like...). Lots of stuff has to happen in the course of...eight more chapters? **

**Also: keep a keen eye on Loki. **

* * *

When it became evident that the Avengers did not plan on backing down in their plan to follow Thor and Loki to wherever the Bifröst or Loki's secret passageways took them, Loki and Thor did not speak to them for an entire day. None of the others were very worried, knowing that the brothers would crack easily—if they had only a week to prepare departure, their silent treatment could not risk lasting any longer.

Tony, Steve, and Bruce were constantly in the lab, renovating the Iron Man suit and enhancing Steve's shield and uniform to withstand harsher attacks. Clint was counting the arrows in his quiver over and over again, and was constantly reassured that Asgard had arrows should he ever run out, even when Loki had given him a resupplying bow to cover that worry. Natasha cleaned her rifles and handguns, many of them also augmented by Loki's powers when he had tested them against shielding spells. It was only now hitting them all what they had signed up for—they were embarking in a completely new planet to fight a war. A war with a powerful titan and dangerous armies, and here they were armed in complete mortality.

Natasha could see the looming stress in everyone, how they all would be fully awake and brewing a cup of coffee at two in the morning, how they found ways to improve their armor or suits to protect them, how they held their weapons in their hands just to remind themselves that they knew how to use them against any foe. This was nothing like diving into Loki's battle in New York City all those years ago; it was the waiting, the preparing, and the time left for fearing the imminent battle that made now so unbearable.

"Folks, we should get some rest," Bruce said for the fourth time since midnight, when they were all gathered in the training basement testing machine guns. It was near four in the morning and after five belts of ammunition later, he, Natasha, Tony, and Loki came to the conclusion that _maybe_ seven belts would be enough to make a mark on Thanos. Thor, Clint, and Steve were readying medical supplies to bring in case healing stones became a rarity, and were undoubtedly also awake at this hour.

"We didn't even get a test round against the dummies," said Tony, stifling a yawn.

"It won't do us good if we drop from sleep deprivation before the battle even hits us," said Bruce, rubbing his eyes. "It'll only hurt us more if we keep staying up like this."

"One more round," said Tony, cleaning the machine gun. His hands were slick with black oil. "One more round, and we'll go to bed. We wake up first thing in the morning, six thirty—"

"Okay, we're going too far," said Bruce. He took the machine gun away from Tony; Tony groaned in protest. "If you do that, your body will seriously shut itself off and we will last at most five seconds out there. Sleep to your heart's content tonight."

"We don't have _time_," said Tony. "We're leaving in like, three days. _Three days. _And Thanos is probably starting his war in ten. What the hell have we been doing these past several months?"

"I should have said something earlier," Loki said. His face was thin as if stress was slowly eating him away. "If only I wasn't so foolish and cowardly—"

"Loki, none of this is your fault," said Bruce. "Honestly, I don't know if we'd be any closer to knowing how to tackle this than if we had one night of planning."

"Yeah, when we plan things, they don't exactly work very well," said Tony, He tried to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand, only to smear oil across his brow. Loki frowned at Tony.

"Tony," he said. "Does Pepper know what you're doing?"

Tony looked up perplexedly. "Where did this question come from?"

"My curiosity," said Loki. "Well?"

Tony opened his mouth before closing it and giving a one-shouldered shrug. "I haven't really had time to tell her."

"So you plan on traversing a million leagues away into space and not let her know?" said Loki.

"No," Tony said. "I'd want to say goodbye, of course."

"Do her a favor and at least warn her beforehand," said Loki.

Tony pursed his lips before wiping his hands with a rag. "She'd want to stop me," he said.

Loki looked at Tony for a while before turning back to his work on the shields. "Maybe you should let her," he said.

Tony threw the soiled rag to the ground.

"Not this again," he said. "Loki, I've made up my mind."

"Then say goodbye to Pepper," said Loki. "Before you leave. Well before you leave. Tell her where you are going, tell her the truth. Tell her you could easily die light years away from her, and then you will go."

"Loki, give it a rest," said Bruce.

"There's going to be a war and Earth's going to be in trouble either way," Tony said, his voice rougher than before. "If I can help stop it before it even touches Earth, then I can protect our world. And I can protect her. And I do that if I go with you guys to Asgard."

"And on the off chance that you can't?" said Loki. "Don't pretend I don't know what happened when you tried sacrificing yourself to destroy the Chitauri ship. You nearly died and you never told her goodbye. It nearly killed her. Do you want to repeat that?"

"How do you know that?" Tony said.

Loki raised an eyebrow at the wall as he continued to vigorously polish the shields. "Pepper likes to have someone to talk to while we do your paperwork."

"Leave her out of this," said Tony. "And don't you dare bring that up again."

"Guys," Natasha said. "It's getting late. Maybe we should—"

"What does she think you're doing now?" said Loki. "Fits of scientific fancy? Star-gazing? Have you been lying to her?"

"Stop talking," said Tony.

"We're ending this conversation now," said Bruce.

"She is the one person you cannot live without, is she not?" said Loki. His voice continued to grow, but he would not look at Tony. Natasha could see his hands shaking from across the room. "So why do you think it is all right to leave her, when you may be the person she cannot live without? And then you throw yourself away and she's left with nothing, alone, abandoned—"

Bruce barely had enough time to stand in the way as Tony lunged at Loki. He grappled with Tony and pinned him against the wall as Tony thrashed in his grip, pure anger burning on his face as he yelled. Natasha too rushed forward to help Bruce as Tony spat poison.

"Why the hell are you talking like this?" Tony said, his voice pouring and burning like magma. "What the hell do you want? _What do you want_?"

Loki only closed his eyes, and Natasha realized how much in pain he looked, as if speaking those words physically ailed him. Of course, she thought with a wry twist in her gut—of course. What a strange, painful way of trying to protect a friend.

"Tony, please—" said Bruce, and Natasha could see the frustration budding in him. She quickly intervened, taking on Tony's burden herself.

"Tony, stop and breathe," Natasha said in a low voice. She could feel Loki's silent gaze on her back. "Tony, come on—"

"I know what he's trying to do, all right?" Tony said, his voice ricocheting across the metallic room. "I know what you're trying to do, Loki, and you _can't_. You're trying to push me away, trying to force me to back out, and you're using Pepper against me. Silvertongue, Wordsmith, yada yada—I _get _it. You nearly made me stop and think, too—but you have to _stop_."

He stopped struggling, but his limbs were threateningly tense in Natasha's grip, so she did not let go. Tony breathed heavily, glaring accusingly at Loki, who did not move a single muscle.

"Yeah, I get it," said Tony. "I love Pepper. I love her, I love her, I love her, and I don't want anything bad to happen to her, and I don't want to leave her. But how dare you use her as a weapon so that you would make me abandon you all? I want to stay with her, but I need to fight with you guys—fight so that she and you and everyone will be _saved_. That's what matters to me."

Tony choked, as if the words were becoming too much for him. "Okay, fine. I'll say goodbye to her. I'll—I'll tell her the truth, and soon, and I'll break it to her. But I will not leave you guys. And that doesn't mean I'm leaving her either. You know why? Because we're going to _win. _I don't care what your pessimistic mind tells you, we're _going to win, _and then I'm coming back and I'm never letting her go. And you'll think to yourself, 'Well, goddamn and thank God, and to think I nearly tried to get him to—to back out—to—'"

Tony let out a yell of frustration before twisting out of Natasha's grip and sinking a punch into the wall. The sound resonated, making the room shiver. Loki's shoulders would not stop shaking.

"You've got to _stop_, Loki," said Tony. "You've got to stop thinking you have to be alone, that we shouldn't help you, and that you can't be helped. What the hell or who the hell made you think that way, because I'll personally beat the living daylights out of them. Let us help—let me help—and for God's sake don't try to make me desert you guys, okay?" He let out a strangled noise in his throat. "Okay?"

Loki clutched his arms as if cold, still shaking. Natasha sucked in a sharp intake of breath, waiting, fearing. Even Bruce was on edge, frozen and nervous to move an inch. Tony let out another frustrated growl and punched the wall again, resting his forehead resignedly on the wall. For a long moment, no one spoke or moved, afraid that any disturbance would shatter the dam.

"I'm sorry, Tony," Loki said. His voice was small. "I should—I didn't—I'm sorry. I just—you've done too much for me. I didn't want to repay you with suffering. Please. I'm sorry."

"Oh, hell, Loki," said Tony. He turned around, sliding down against the wall until he slouched on the floor. The weariness of nightless days was heavy in his appearance. "You are an idiot. An idiot with a messed-up way of trying to say thank you."

"You've already done too much because of me," Loki repeated.

"We're your friends, Loki," said Bruce. "Don't you see? We don't want anything from you, we don't demand anything, we don't expect anything, not any of that."

"And remember, I'm doing it for Pepper," Tony said, his voice thick. He offered a thin smile. "So you can't tell me what I can or can't do for Pepper."

Loki gave a weak chuckle before craning his neck until he faced the ceiling. Natasha reached out and touched his elbow gently, as it to assure him that nothing—nothing was wrong. He leaned into her touch, blinking away unshed emotion.

"I am a fool," said Loki. "That I allow myself this sentiment."

She watched how his graceful fingers lingered at his chest, just around the arc reactor. She tightened her fingers around him and he gripped his hand into a fist, letting it fall to his side. He let out a sigh before turning to Tony.

"And to think," said Loki, "that I threw you out a window."

Tony laughed, his voice almost wet—it was nearly unfamiliar.

"To think I instilled a plaque of an outline of where the Hulk smashed your body in my floor," he said.

Loki frowned.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh shoot," said Tony. He laughed again. "You weren't supposed to know that."

* * *

The next morning, Tony took Pepper to a breakfast date on the outer deck of the tower. The rest of the inhabitants tactfully retreated to different floors.

Natasha found herself at Thor's door, trying to bring herself to knock. She knew he had finished his last phone call with Jane only minutes ago, and he might not be keen on talking with Natasha, but she didn't know where to turn. Hell, she didn't know _how _to turn, how to ask for help because she was maybe, just maybe, a little bit concerned (not afraid, not afraid, nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all, of course not).

Natasha clenched her teeth. A conversation should not be so nerve-wracking before it even started. After all, what other time did they have left? They had one more day on Earth and then—

She rapped her knuckles twice on the door. She heard Thor's muffled response and looming footsteps behind the wood before the door swung open.

"Natasha," Thor said with the tone of mild surprise. He stepped to the side, gesturing for her to come in. She offered him a quick smile before slipping inside, closing the door behind her.

"Hey, Thor," said Natasha. "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course," said Thor. "Come—sit down." He pulled one of the wicker chairs from the corner to the middle of the room for her to sit on. She couldn't help but chuckle at the act of chivalry but let herself take the offer.

"Thanks," said Natasha.

Thor sat himself down on the edge of the bed. She only now noticed that he was donning his complete Asgardian armor, and tomorrow felt far too close.

"How's Jane?" said Natasha.

"I told her that I was returning to Asgard, and why," said Thor. He sighed. "She was…distressed, to say the least, but she has faith in us. She offers her skills wholeheartedly, if we find a need for them."

"I don't think a Rosen bridge will help us once we get there," Natasha said.

"Perhaps not," said Thor. "I wonder how Pepper is taking the news."

"Probably not well, but she'll keep up her front to look like she is," said Natasha. "If she's angry, she'll show it. But if she's sad, or scared…no, I don't think she'd want to let Tony see."

"Truly, in war some of the strongest hearts are those left out of the battlefield," said Thor.

"Is mourning hard? In Asgard?"

"I'm sure all grief is difficult, regardless of where one is," said Thor.

"I know," said Natasha. "But you guys—I mean, AEsir—are meant to be immortal, or at least you live for thousands of years. Death isn't natural for you, in some sense. Here on Earth, we know everyone will die someday, some sooner or later than others. But for you guys, if someone dies, it isn't a subject of inevitability. It's…I guess a shock, isn't it?"

"I see," Thor said. His voice was soft. "You are right, in a way. I do not know how it is, to mourn death but all the while knowing that I will follow in due time. I suppose for us—for the AEsir—death is tragic. Unless it's from old age, and they pass to Valhalla after millennia of life, in which their lives will be celebrated following their death. But when one should die of battle, or illness, or anything else…" His voice trailed away before he shook his head. "It is painful. To understand that you will spend era after era without them."

"Is that how you felt when you thought Loki died?" said Natasha.

Thor's face fell at her words. Natasha inwardly flinched.

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up," she said.

"No, it..." Thor hesitated before giving her a cheerless smile. "One would think I would get over his death considering he's very much alive. But I still..." He shook his head. "This will sound pathetic to you. I still have nightmares about it. And when I wake up, I have to make sure he's still alive almost immediately afterward or I'll—I haven't forgotten it yet. Even now."

"I'm sorry," Natasha said. It only just occurred to her how little she considered Thor's sadness. To think that Thor, the boisterous and optimistic mountain of a man who could literally laugh a storm, still had so much brokenness in him made her ache.

"It's silly, isn't it?" said Thor. "I'm still grieving for a death that never really happened."

"There's nothing wrong with it still hurting," said Natasha. "I mean, you saw him d—you saw him let go. That's got to be almost scarring."

Thor nodded. "It was strange to mourn...we had to pretend that we moved on, well enough to rule Asgard with a steady heart. I don't think Mother smiled in that year we believed him dead." He sighed, rubbing his chin tiredly. "Loki does not believe me, but Asgard truly mourned for him. His charm and magic was popular among the children of the realm, and the commoners' delighted in his tricks. The nobility—well, they thought to see a different side of him. But the artisans honored him subtly in their work, the stable boys continued to take care of his steed, and the cobblestone roads were constantly lined with flowers. There is something about those with no royal blood, no crown or name, no riches, that somehow lets them cherish the good in everything."

"It seems to be that way more often than naught," said Natasha. "You never really talked to anyone about it, have you?"

"Not exactly," said Thor. "Anyone of Asgard can tell you of how my anger is more than just noticeable by all."

"And some on Earth can concur too, I'm sure," said Natasha.

Thor laughed.

"I am no stranger to anger," he said. "But I was lost in grief. I didn't know how to live with it. I still do not, I suppose." He gave a wry smile. "I suppose not many in Asgard do. Of course, who in all Nine Realms understand how to master grief?"

Natasha let her gaze fall to her fingers curled on her lap. "What about a mortal? Do you mourn the lives of mortals?"

Thor frowned slightly. "Truthfully, few if any other Asgardians personally know mortals to genuinely mourn for them."

"No one else has ever came to Earth and fell in love with a human or something?" said Natasha. "Were you an unprecedented case?"

Thor bit his lip. "I do not believe so. At least, there were probably moments when AEsir would come down on Midgard and—ah—spend a night with mortal men or women, but never anything deeper. If they did, then I certainly do not know their stories."

Natasha shifted in her seat.

"Do you mind if I ask what will happen next?" said Natasha.

"What do you mean?" said Thor.

"Pretend this whole situation of Thanos and the war never existed," said Natasha. "That life would be normal the day after tomorrow. Do you…I mean, do you plan on marrying Jane?"

Thor ran a hand across the back of his head. He exhaled softly.

"We both want to know each other deeper," said Thor. "I do not think that marriage is in our minds."

"But say you want to consider it," said Natasha.

Thor gave her a smile but he said nothing.

"How, though?" she said. "She's mortal. And you aren't."

Thor's gaze flickered to the curtained window. "I am aware," he said, his voice light.

"Even if you were able to make her immortal somehow," said Natasha, "would she really want to leave her friends here on Earth?"

"I do not know," said Thor. "We do not even know if we both would want to marry each other. We are only just rekindling our friendship after nearly four years of being apart. But…" He heaved a sigh. "What you say is correct. Marriage between AEsir and a mortal is unprecedented, and not without a reason."

"A mortal's lifespan is at most eighty or so years," said Natasha. "How quickly does that pass for people like you?"

Thor rubbed his arms protectively. It was so strange to see such a strong and physically foreboding man like Thor shrink back as if to protect himself from the inevitability of mortality.

"An AEsir child would not have yet grown in that time," Thor said. "No…it is not so long in comparison to an eternity."

"How would you stand that?" said Natasha. "If you ended up loving her and marrying her, how would you stand only having such a short time with her?"

"When love is involved, any time that is given to us is far better than none at all," said Thor. "Yes, eight decades is nothing compared to what I will face afterward, but would I sacrifice the chance of loving and being loved and a happiness I've yet to know all because I fear the pain that would follow? No…I am not afraid of heartbreak. No life is safe from them, especially a life as long as mine."

"Would you really want to fall in love with someone you knew you couldn't stand losing?" said Natasha. "And when she will be gone, it would hurt like hell? Is it really better that way?"

"Natasha, we do not love someone because we can stand the risk of losing them," said Thor. "We love others because we don't ever want to be apart, even if that may be inevitable."

Natasha closed her eyes, her heart fluttering painfully and hopefully—a daunting combination. She clasped her hands together, trying to fill in the empty gaps. Her fingers were nowhere near as long, as slender, as cool as _his._

"But she won't be able to live by your side forever," she said. "And you—you won't be able to grow old together with her."

Thor was silent and she suddenly wished she had said nothing. She did not mean to hurt Thor, if she had, but was it not the truth? One never became attached to a rainbow or a shooting star when the sky stretched forever and endless, and those tiny miracles died away after only one breath. How were humans any different?

(_Was she any different_?)

"What is it that is on your mind, Natasha?" Thor said. His voice was kind.

"I don't know how to say it," said Natasha. She opened her eyes and pressed her fingers against her lips. "I just…it seems so hard for you. I was worried that you'll be sad for ages afterward. If Loki's supposed death shook you like the way it did, what would you do if your wife had died, but there was no miracle where they appeared alive again somewhere on Earth? I just…I couldn't imagine it. An eternity."

Natasha rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly feeling so unnaturally exposed. Was this the fate that Thor had signed himself up for, for falling in love with this Jane Foster? Eighty or so years of happiness, before falling into loneliness and mourning for who knew how long? Was that the curse of immortality, that they could not fall in love with what could not last, which was nearly everything?

"And then, I'm a little selfish," said Natasha. "Because after hearing what Tony and Loki said about Tony leaving Pepper for war—if Tony had died and Pepper was left behind—it just had me thinking. Those two love each other a lot, and if one had to live without the other…even for a mortal life, that's painful. That's really painful. So I—I got almost scared. Because—"

She caught herself before she let the words escape her mouth, and she distracted herself by pretending she was fiddling with her shoelaces. Thor watched her carefully, his blue eyes wise and worn.

"Natasha," said Thor. "Do you…is there something between you and my brother?"

Amazing, how she somehow completely remembered and completely forgot that Thor and Loki were brothers. With Thor asking her this so bluntly, she only now realized that no shotgun speech Clint could ever give would compare to whatever threats Thor may have to give to whoever came close to his little brother.

"Why do you say that?" she said, raising her eyebrows carefully.

"Loki is not as discreet about his emotions as he would think," Thor said, "and you do not act as apathetic as you claim."

Natasha gave a small chuckle, rubbing her forehead tiredly. "Yeah? Well, how long have you suspected this?"

"A good while," said Thor. "Though, I will not be satisfied of my perception just yet as you've neither confirmed nor denied it."

"Right," said Natasha. She took a deep breath. "I care for Loki. I care for him a lot. But…I don't know what happens next. If there can be anything after this." She gave a wry smile. "I can't say I'm certain about how he feels, either. If he feels the same or…" She shrugged. "Anyway. I was asking. Because it's obvious you and Jane are growing close, and no matter what something has to come after, whether it's in one way we'd like or one way we'd expect."

Thor nodded slowly. "Well, if it will put your mind at ease in any way," said Thor, "I am almost certain that Loki treasures you deeply."

Natasha laughed. "You Asgardians like to say things in ways that make them sound a lot more extraordinary than it ought to be."

"Or perhaps you let your doubts and fears lessen the true value," Thor said. "It's true. You are dear to him. Not that he would tell me himself, considering what happened last time he did…"

Natasha gave a smile, even though the idea of Loki having affection for another, regardless of how long ago or what results ensued, made her insides twinge painfully. What did she expect, though? That he in his two thousand or so years would not feel anything for anyone until now? That was foolish talk—fit for a shallow teen romance, if anything. Even humans of her age would easily fall in love with thirty-three individuals in the course of twenty plus years, and that ought to not be a surprise.

"May I ask you deeper questions?" said Thor.

"Oh." Natasha bit the tip of her tongue, recognizing that with deeper questions demanded honesty, a trait she still struggled with. "Go ahead."

"What does your relationship with Loki mean to you?" said Thor.

"You mean, what we have now?" said Natasha. "It means a great deal to me. I want him to be happy—to be loved, to be cared for, to be valued—and frankly, I want to be the one to do that for him. And he makes me happy—more than that, better than that…" She felt her cheeks burn and she rubbed the back of her head. "I mean—yeah. I cherish it—him—a lot."

"You don't have to be afraid of me, you know," Thor said, raising his eyebrows good-naturedly.

"I know," Natasha said with a snort. "But I've never really talked about this with anyone else besides Loki, you know? And now I'm admitting everything to his big brother."

"You needn't worry," said Thor. "I've made myself responsible for warding off Loki's love-stricken admirers for many millennia and I think you are far above and beyond them."

"Wait—what?" Natasha said.

Thor smirked. "I only jest. Well, partly." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What do you hope for, Natasha? In your relationship with him?"

"I feel like the both of us ought to admit to each other what's going on between us before we get to that," Natasha said, her face burning.

"Well, your sentiments remain either way, I would think," said Thor. "Do you hope for marriage? Was that…was that why you were asking me those questions?"

Natasha took in a deep breath before looking away. "I don't know," she said. "If we are to be realistic…no matter how we feel about each other mutually, there are things that can't change for us. Me being mortal, first off. Us being a part of two completely different—er—planets."

"Frankly," said Thor. "If love is true and holds fast, even those problems would not hinder you. It just may find a way through in a way you did not expect."

"I'm sorry if I've offended you in any way," said Natasha. "I really do hope for the best for you, with Jane or whoever you end up loving."

Thor smiled. "Thank you, Natasha." His gaze fell to the floor as his thoughts drifted elsewhere. "And…I suppose, to answer your question, if I wanted to marry Jane and I was not needed on Asgard, and she did not want to leave her life here on Midgard, I would stay with her until the end."

"You would?" said Natasha. "But she'll grow old while you can't. She'll die and you'll be—quite frankly—unchanged."

"Love is watching someone die, Natasha," said Thor. "I would not leave her during her last moment to protect myself." He paused for a moment before clearing his throat. "I beg permission to ask something of you."

"Of course," said Natasha.

"Please be good to him," said Thor. "And be sure that he is good to you. Love has hurt him in the past and I don't want him to be wounded by it anymore. And I would not want you to face the same either."

"I—" Natasha began to say before her voice caught in her throat. She nodded, unable to hold back her smile. "Thanks, Thor. That really means a lot to me."

Thor returned his characteristic beam. Realizing that she had practically received what was an equivalent of Thor's blessing (though perhaps not enough to be able to lift Mjölnir, she was sure of that), she couldn't help but give a sigh of relief and lean back in her chair.

"So," said Thor, "should I expect some good news in the future?"

"What?" said Natasha.

"I mean, most of the stories are mortal-made and inaccurate," said Thor with a cheeky smile, "but the best way to dispel rumors of Loki's supposed—ah—promiscuity of Midgardian mythology is settling down."

Natasha choked with laughter. "I was going to ask you about that."

"Ask away," said Thor, evidently extremely humored at the rumors of Loki's many sexual escapades.

"Well," Natasha said. "Er—Sleipnir?"

"Ah, Father's eight-legged steed," said Thor.

"He's real?"

"Well, of course," said Thor. "But not in the way that the mortals of long ago ðilfari was indeed Sleipnir's father, but Father's acquiring of Sleipnir was as a prize for compensation of the past. I do not think that Father would use his own grandson as a steed if that was truly the case."

"Oh good," said Natasha. "I was—I mean, I sort of suspected that they were just myths, but you know…can't be certain about anything nowadays."

"And yet you never asked Loki?" said Thor with a wink.

"I didn't think he'd be too keen on some of his first words spoken in a long while to be defending himself from giving birth to a foal."

"No, but I doubt he'd enjoy such no matter how many words he spoke beforehand," said Thor.

"Touché," said Natasha. "So uh, if you don't mind me asking a little more…"

"By all means," said Thor.

"Who's this Angrboða person and should I be worried?"

Thor chortled, throwing his head back in his laughter. "Now, _that _story probably all started the one time during the Dísablót festival of the one thousandth and one-hundred thirteenth year…"

* * *

Loki was used to stressful situations—though war certainly had a category of its own—but his body would refuse to stand still even if his thoughts were relatively tamed. He paced, he fiddled with pens, he opened and closed the window just to use his arms—his body wanted to make its entire run before throwing itself into inevitable uncertainty.

He spent days and nights in Tony's study, trying to iron out the last minute battle plans. The study looked hardly touched except by Loki—Tony probably preferred his workrooms and machinery over books plastered on all four walls and dim amber light. Loki did not mind—it reminded him of his own chambers back in Asgard, where he sought solace and privacy. He wished he had discovered this room in the tower earlier.

The desk was strewn with papers peppered with diagrams and Old Norse text. Some of the battle tactics, others—lists of spells to use for weaponry. A map of Yggdrasil, with Midgard safely nestled in the middle as all the other Nine Realms surrounded it. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Thanos could not reach Midgard unless he got through the other Realms. Then he remembered that Natasha—and the rest of the Avengers, for that matter—were coming with him to Asgard anyway.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. In the midst of all that fear, all that disapproval that she was coming, all that doubt—he was glad she would be with him. It was a hidden gladness, one that was greedy and insensible, but to know that she would be with him till the end—at the end—gave him comfort.

He did not know what to expect for the end. By war's hand, perhaps, or beyond it, with a flash of light and the Mind Gem vanquishing him as a foe, but…she would be there. And she would see it.

The thought of such pained him cruelly. He seemed to make it a habit to make others watch him fall, he thought grimly.

He wondered if she would mourn. How she would mourn. Like Thor, whose etchings on his arm guards did not go unnoticed to Loki? Like Frigga, a silent shieldwoman who bottled her being as if it were her obligation?

_(Is this love, Silvertongue?_)

He rested his hand on his lips.

Typical of you, he thought. Your heart burns for someone and at death's door you've yet to even tell her. Enemy of truth indeed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to squelch his thoughts. His head spun and he gritted his teeth; the lightheadedness never truly left.

Did she know?

Did she know what she was doing to him?

Did she even realize?

Loki pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. After being mute for so long, and now he was free to speak just before he would reach the strange and unpredictable end, and he had left so much unsaid. Nearly two thousand years of life and here he was, almost out of time.

There was still one day more, and then—war. And there would be no room for sentiment then.

Shall he risk it?

Did he dare?

Because he knew—he knew—should they actually succeed, should she be able to return home, he would not be able to bring himself to follow. He would disappear—in Asgard, where Thor and Frigga would mourn into shadows? To an abandoned star about to burst? He would hide, like a cat crawling away to die, and that would be the end.

But he hungered that she would remember him.

He hesitated.

But should this be the last day, with merely one day more to live like this, then he wanted this to be a day she would remember—a moment she would remember _him _forever. Even beyond his—fate.

He bit down on his tongue. How selfish he was, that he was desperate to have her remember him even if they had to be apart, even if death took him. That he was not willing to pull himself away from her until his disappearance would be a minor blow as nobler characters would, but that he hungered for her to remember him, to think of him even when he was gone…to miss him.

How disgusting he was, that he wanted to inflict that sort of pain on her. That he yearned for her heart even beyond his time.

He leaned forward in his chair, resting his head in his hands. Love was a conundrum, that it made a heart so selfless and selfish at the same time. It defied nature, defied logic, defied everything that once made order and sense.

"Mind if I join you?"

He looked up with surprise at the sudden interject, only to see the speak of the devil at the door. Natasha peeked through the doorway expectantly, and his heartbeat hiccupped at the sight of her. He swallowed hard before nodding.

_(One day more)_

She settled herself in one of the armchairs opposite of the desk. He could feel her watching him closely as he shuffled the papers into a pile at the corner of the table. His fingers begged him to not let them remain idle.

"What are you working on?" said Natasha.

"Just reminders for myself," said Loki. "I can enhance Asgard's bluntly primeval weapons and armor with spells so that they may stand a chance against the Chitauri and the Kree's technology, but I need to remember the formula, and perhaps see if I can do more."

"Not everyone's weapons are like your scepter or Mjölnir, huh?" said Natasha.

"Far from it," said Loki. "Both were gifts, in the most relative sense. And rare gifts, at that." He rubbed his lips in thought. "Anyway, most of Asgard, or the Nine Realms for that matter, do not possess such weapons. If they tried facing the Chitauri's rifles or the Kree's ammunition with their swords and shields, they would fall before they even lay a blow on the enemy."

"Does everyone else use swords and such to fight?" said Natasha.

"Many do," said Loki. "Though different races will have some powers of their own to enhance their attack or defense. The Vanir are magical creatures, as are most of the elf races. The Frost Giants can manipulate ice."

At the mention of the Frost Giants, Loki frowned briefly. The thought of their race frosted his mind until his thoughts were numbed.

"Anyway," said Loki, "A bit of an advantage on our side wouldn't hurt."

"Can I ask you something?" said Natasha.

"By all means," said Loki.

"Who is Laufey?" said Natasha.

Loki paused. "I should have known you'd wonder about that."

"What did he do to you?" she said.

"It's quite a dull and unfortunate story," said Loki. "I wouldn't want to bore you with details."

"I don't think it's quite as boring as you say," said Natasha.

Loki exhaled deeply, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. The thought of Laufey made a lump in his throat—out of anger or some other emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on, he did not want to consider. But she had given him all her truths, even the ones that pained her—could he not trust her enough to do the same?

"Laufey was the king of Jotunheim, and Odin's enemy," said Loki. "He was the one who waged destruction of Midgard to take for the Frost Giants, and who got into a war with the All-Father, which resulted in Asgard's—ah—displeasure of Jotunheim." He pressed his lips together. "He was also my birth father."

Natasha said nothing. She rested her hands on the desk, open to listen. It only occurred to Loki that despite all this time, despite all they knew about each other, this was only the second time they had a mutual conversation.

"When Thor was banished, I arranged for him to be murdered in hopes I would do something for Asgard's favor for once," said Loki. "The rest is ancient history."

"He wasn't the man who raised you," she said, more as a confirmation than a statement.

"He was not so unfortunate," said Loki.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows. Loki shrugged.

"He abandoned me when I was a baby because I was too small and relatively unhealthy for a Frost Giant," said Loki. "He was a vicious and harsh king; he would not have room for runts like me."

"Looks like he made the wrong call," said Natasha.

"I wouldn't know," said Loki. "If I were truly raised as a prince of Jotunheim, there's a possibility that Thor would not mind killing me. Strange how life works."

"Have you ever been to Jotunheim?"

"Of course I have. How else would I have arranged Laufey to walk into my trap?"

"No, I mean—actually _be_ in Jotunheim," said Natasha. "Like, talk to the people, see their culture…see their lives."

Loki furrowed his eyebrows. "I have no reason to. Why would I want to?"

"I don't know," said Natasha. "See what they're like?"

"I already know that they are brash and coarse creatures," said Loki, bitterness creeping into his mind. "I do not need more proof."

"How do you know that?" said Natasha. "Through Laufey?"

"They've always been coarse people," said Loki.

"Yeah, I'm sure Asgard knows all about it, having only interacted with Frost Giants through war," said Natasha.

Loki opened his mouth before closing it again in thought.

"Do you know who your birth mother was, out of curiosity?" Natasha said, her voice soft.

"No," said Loki. "Probably a woman of no importance. I don't see a child of pure royal blood being cast out even if his stature was slight."

"Does it still hurt you?" said Natasha.

"It never hurt me, the fact I was thrown out," said Loki with remarkable ease. "I hated the fact that Father or Mother never told me, thinking they could keep it a secret from me that I was a very poor bargaining chip, only for me to find out on my own."

"So that's how it came about," Natasha said with a small sigh.

"They claimed that they wanted to protect me from the truth," said Loki. "So they swaddled me in a lie. Admirable attempt, I'm sure, but a doomed one at that. I was afraid of Frost Giants when I was a child. Irony apparently found me when I was young."

"Why were you afraid of them?" said Natasha.

"Why wouldn't I be?" said Loki. "Imagine when you were a child, didn't something keep you awake in the middle of the night? Nightmares of sorts? Even something like a shadow under your bed? Those were Frost Giants for children on Asgard. We grew up with tales of their brutality and violence, no matter how hard Mother tried to tell us otherwise. Strangely enough, it is easier to believe the words of thousands than that of your own mother."

"And yet all this time, you are living proof to Asgard that Frost Giants aren't all cruel," said Natasha.

Loki smiled wryly. "I wouldn't say that. I was a nuisance to the court, and I can't say that the public adores me in the slightest. Look at me; I've many different sides of me that aren't pleasant. Regicide, patricide, fratricide, genocide, suicide—" He paused before brushing the thought away. "Needless to say, my welcome back from Midgard those years ago was not a warm one. And neither will this one be."

The looming thought of returning to Asgard was a heavy shadow in his mind. Asgard was his original and foremost home, so why was he so afraid? Did he fear the scorns and jeers of the nobles as he passed, the townspeople and their frightened anger at the murderer of mortals? Did he fear facing his father, he whom Loki had failed over and over again? He bit his lip at the thought of facing Odin's disappointment (_again_). Perhaps Odin would be upset that Loki was alive and relatively well, when his captivity and torture was what ensured the Infinity Gauntlet away from Thanos' hand. Perhaps he would not trust Loki, after all he had done, and throw him into the barracks before Loki could explain.

And for good reason, too. The crimes still blackened Loki's hands no matter who held them, and such a thought panged Loki painfully. As much as his raw, childish self ached to see his father's face, fear and hopelessness and _hurt_ plagued him.

"You know," said Natasha. "The asphodels that you placed around that memorial? They've never died, and they're still there. People are baffled by it, but in a good way."

Loki raised his eyebrows at Natasha.

"I know they were from you," said Natasha.

"I'm not questioning that," said Loki. "I'm questioning why you're bringing this up."

"I'm just saying," said Natasha. "For someone who committed all those crimes, you don't seem very unrepentant about them."

Loki rested his chin in his hand.

"Remorse does very little in this life," said Loki. "Not when several hundred are dead." He smiled in spite of himself. "Stark tells me that a council of Earth wants me executed."

"You're kidding," said Natasha.

"Now, my sense of humor isn't that entirely black."

Natasha leaned back in her chair, brushing her hair from her face. "See, this is what I've come to hate about assassins and executions and all that," she said. "There's always hope and chance that something would change, that a person will change their ways, and still…"

"Stark somehow dammed the storm, though I can't say for how long," said Loki. "I can't entirely blame nor escape them. No doubt Asgard will demand my neck as well when I return."

Though, at the rate that his luck was going, he might beat them all to it first.

"Thor said that the townspeople loved you," said Natasha. "That they truly grieved when you—well, the first time you were gone."

"I have given them no reason to," said Loki.

"Love isn't like money where you work for it," said Natasha. "Otherwise, I don't think any of us would deserve love."

"You do," said Loki. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could check himself. He cleared his throat, the back of his neck burning. Even Natasha was visibly caught off guard, caught between being flustered and touched.

"The day I deserve love," said Natasha, "is the day you do too. And you do, Loki." She leaned forward. "Are you concerned about going home?"

"Ah," said Loki with a sigh. "Somehow you—what was the phrase again?—hit the nail on its head."

"Did I?" said Natasha, her voice gentle.

Loki ran a hand over his forehead tiredly. "Why would they accept me? I ought to sooner be shot down the moment my feet touch the Bifröst." He closed his eyes. "How am I supposed to face my father? He would never want to see me again—he would never—"

"Of course he would want to see you again," said Natasha. "He searched for you. When you were taken, he was preparing to save you, only Thor beat him to it."

"But why?" said Loki. "All I've ever been or done was—I don't even know what I am. I'm not his son. Not a prince of Asgard." He gave a smile void of emotion. "It's been a long while since I was ever anyone."

"You are Loki, and that is more than enough for us," said Natasha. "You don't have to try to be anything else."

His eyes fixed on hers. That rush of emotion flowed through him again and he took a breath. He wished he would never have to look away.

"Natasha."

"Yeah?" said Natasha.

"I—" For a Silvertongue, he found his greatest weapon completely tongue-tied. How was one supposed to confess when he never held anyone's affection before, when he was almost positive that he had never done so much as held another person's hand in his ridiculously long life?

Natasha raised her eyebrows, and for a moment Loki was convinced that she knew _exactly _what he wanted to tell her, but was too tempted to hear Loki verbally plow his way through to inform him. He swallowed and locked his gaze on her.

"May I bring you somewhere?" Loki said softly.

Natasha blinked. "Sure," she said. "But where? And why?"

"Because I want to show you someplace," said Loki. "Somewhere where you will enjoy."

Just for a moment.

The corner of Natasha's lips twitched upward. "Is this your way of asking me on a date, Loki?"

"I beg your pardon?" Loki said. Why did she assume that he wanted to give her fruit?

"A date? You know—what's the right word?—when you take someone out in a social engagement because there's something between them. Something—like courting."

"Oh—I see," said Loki. His mouth curved into a smooth smile. "That's a terrible word for something far sweeter."

He rose from his chair and offered a hand to her. "Will you come?"

Natasha watched him closely before giving him a crooked smile and taking his hand.

He let his magic surge through her until they were bonded with his powers, an invisible union. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his location, before he finally used his magic to teleport them away from Stark Tower, away from New York City, to a place peaceful and without other people, any wars or enemies, where she could focus on him and him alone. Where he could be her everything, because that was how he felt about her even in the middle of a crowd or a war or when it was just them two in the night.

Midnight swathed them, with only the luminescent moon to light their way. There was no city with their streetlights to interrupt the darkness, none of their traffic that mowed down the serenity. Only the soft sigh of the ocean brushing against the shore, rippling like sifting silk.

Natasha took in a sharp breath, clutching Loki's hand tightly as she slowly revolved around the spot, taking in the sweet loneliness. A dark outline of a small crag was a little ways off, like a blot of a darker blue on the canvas. Smooth pebbles shifted under her step and she nearly jumped. Loki held on to her closely.

"Where are we?" said Natasha, her voice hushed.

"You already know," said Loki.

He bent low to pick up a smooth, round stone from the ground. Running his thumb over the surface, he poised his hand, narrowing his eyes to study the delicate horizon of the ocean.

"Is this—I mean, are we where I think we are?" Natasha said.

Loki gave her a crooked smile before sharply flicking his wrist, skipping the stone across the surface of the water. The moment the stone touched the water, radiant blue bloomed at its surface, as if a mythical creature walked upon the water and left luminous footsteps behind. Natasha stared, transfixed, edging closer to the shore.

"You can't be serious," she said. "Are we really? Is this—is this actually real?"

She grasped a stone at her feet. With one swift motion she hurled the stone into the water. Her eyes widened at the sight of the bright blue blossoming at the contact. She threw another stone, and another, letting the ripples glimmer with surrealism, relishing in the quiet, beautiful miracle.

"Oh my God," said Natasha. "You actually took me to see them. You remembered that I wanted to see them. Oh my word…oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

Each word grew with incredulous laughter and joy and she kicked her shoes and socks off, running into the water. Her footsteps left an unbelievable shimmer at her wake until everything was illuminated. The bright blue lightened the nighttime like fireworks as she jumped through the water, running until each splash sent a sparkle about her, dancing, spinning.

"I see it!" said Natasha, and Loki could hear her smile. "I see it, it's here, I'm here, I see it and it's so real. We're all so real. This miracle is real."

She looked so lovely in the moonlight, until Loki thought he would ache just watching her outstretch her arms as if to catch the drops of her dream that flew from her feet. Her smile was so genuine, so great until it too glowed in the night, with her arms thrown out to embrace the night, that he remembered the sketch of her he made all those weeks ago, except this was far more perfect. This was real.

"Come on, Loki!" said Natasha, running toward him, nearly falling face-first into the water as the sand caught at her toes. She splashed water onto him before taking his hand. "Come into the water with me."

Loki barely had enough time to take off his shoes before Natasha pulled him by the hand into the ocean. The Australian water was warm to the touch, the sand soft as velvet between his toes as each movement he made in the water made more and more wonders. She held his hand and they both ran through the water, conjuring their own magic as the sea sparkle danced about them.

This was real. This phenomenon was real, and best of all, they were real.

They laughed and shouted as they splashed each other, sending waves of beautiful blue at each other until they were soaked. They waded further and further until they were nearly to their hips in the water, the state of their clothes completely foregone. At one point, Loki lifted Natasha clean off her feet, and just like a chivalrous gentleman, threw her into the water. The ocean blushed electric blue.

"You are not getting away for that!" Natasha said before skimming her arms across the surface, sending a large wave against Loki. He laughed and stepped back, only to misstep and fall onto his back into the water. The blue cradled his outline and he wondered if it would seep into his skin. Bright blue coated him and for once he was not afraid.

"Come on, old man," said Natasha, pulling him back onto his feet. Her grin never wavered. "Do you have anything like this on Asgard?"

Loki took her gently, both hands on her waist.

"Nothing even close," he said.

She looked up at him, her red hair wet and framing her face. She placed her hands on his shoulder. They danced in the water, guided by the moonlight. Each move they made sent sparkles about them, a kind of magic that even Loki could never master. And yet they couldn't take their eyes off of each other.

Fear did not exist anymore. Neither did regret, nor anger, nor bitterness, nor pain. All that existed was her, her only, her soft breath against his chest and her heartbeat against him. So long as she lived, he would live.

He almost forgot why he brought her here. He lowered his head until his lips barely brushed over the top of her head.

"Natasha," he said.

She stayed silent, and Loki took it as permission to continue speaking.

"There's something I want to tell you," he said.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders.

"If this is some sort of confession that will make me upset," said Natasha, "I recommend you save it."

Loki closed his mouth, a small smile on his lips. He closed his eyes, and her image still burned in his mind.

"Well?" said Natasha. "What is it?"

"Just wanted to tell you that we are in Australia right now," said Loki, "and I've no idea what bizarre indigenous creatures they may have living in the waters."

"There's an alien prince in their ocean. It can't get any weirder," she said, lifting her face to him.

Loki brushed a strand of dark red hair behind her ear. "Have you ever been kissed, Natasha?"

"That's a cheeky question," said Natasha.

"Have you?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "What if I said yes?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Loki.

"And if I said no?"

Loki leaned in closer, lowering his voice. His lips were mere millimeters away from hers. "I'd get my hopes up."

He felt her shudder and he closed his eyes. However, his lips did not meet hers, but her fingers when she stopped him. He glanced down at her fingertips at his lips in bemusement before lifting his eyes to hers. Her blue eyes shone, and he thought he could feel the smallest tremor down her hand.

"Loki," said Natasha. "We're leaving tomorrow to go to war."

"Yes," said Loki, his lips brushing against her fingers as he spoke.

"I'm not naïve," said Natasha. "I know what war does to people. Especially if they're afraid." She lowered her hand, backing away slightly. "If you want to kiss me—but you're doing it now because you're afraid that you won't have any chance after this—then save it. Because there _will _be another chance. After we win the war. I won't kiss you until we've fought the last battle and come out victorious. So you hold on until then. You understand?"

Loki took in a deep breath. It was a promise he knew he could not trust and it hurt to realize that. But how could he tell her? How could he leave her like that?

"All right," he said. He could barely hear himself. "All right."

She smiled at him before nestling her head against his neck. He swallowed hard, holding her closer as they rocked with the rhythm of the ocean, speechless. He wished this would never end, but his heart knew that while Natasha saw this as their first, he could not see it as anything else but their last.

_I love you._

The words were at his lips and yet he did not know how to say them.

_I'm sorry._

How could words that were meant to bring so much happiness have the power to break so much?

_I love you._

He pressed his lips against the top of her head. She was so warm.

"Loki?" said Natasha.

"Hmm?" said Loki.

She twisted slightly, pointing to the crag a little ways off.

"Will you jump with me?" she said. "Into the water?" She laughed in spite of herself. "It's childish, I'm sure, but…I want to fall into the lights."

Loki's lips curled into a smile.

"Race you there?" he said.

Natasha didn't even answer before she tore herself from Loki with alarming speed toward the rocky crag. He hastily followed her, his clothes heavy with water as he emerged onto the shore. The thin water tickled his ankles.

The crag was perhaps twenty-five feet above the deeper waters, slick with moss and smooth stone. Natasha clambered onto the rock quickly, her eyes narrowed with excited determination. She turned to Loki.

"To the edge," she said.

They crept closer to the tapering end of the crag. The ocean hummed below them, licking at the wall of stone. With no more disturbances, the water was inky and barely visible as if nothing ever changed.

"What if there are rocks below?" said Loki.

"Then we die," said Natasha.

Loki snorted. "Ever the optimistic one."

Natasha laughed. She held out her hand to him.

"Together?" she said.

He took it readily. They stood side-by-side on the point of the peak, their toes barely off the edge. He wondered if there truly were rocks below them, but it hardly mattered anymore.

"One—" said Natasha.

He tightened his grip on her. Their fingers melted into each other, fitting as perfectly as keys and locks.

"Two—"

He took in a deep breath and he could still feel her heartbeat against his chest.

"Three!"

Together, they fell.


	35. Chapter 35

**For the past week or two I've been emotionally stressed about life in general, but strangely enough updates are always a nice patch of sunshine for the day. I admit I'm a little frantic about this story now, to the point of paranoia, as it's approaching the climax but doesn't seem to be delivering as well as I'd like. **

**That being said, I want to thank you all for returning chapter after chapter and reading my writing. Frankly, this story has taken up four months of long nights of my life. To realize that people actually sit down and read it is more than I can ask for. Whatever happens in my life, whether my future involves what I dream of or ends up not being what I dreamed of, I will forever appreciate the audience I have now and the kindness you guys have shown me.**

* * *

Fury was not a high-strung man. The trainees would whisper such rumors behind his back when he walked away and he could practically hear their knees clacking together with intimidation if his eye fell on them. When he spoke, he could tell just by the way they blinked that they were surprised he was not yelling at them.

Yes, he could lose his temper. Yes, his language was coarser than everyone's grandmothers', but he prided himself with the fact that he could take situations more calmly than most. He was one of the few agents that didn't feel the need to tote their weapon on both sides during the coffee break. He only yelled at a trainee for leaving the door open behind them twice. He was far from a high-strung man.

Which, of course, meant that when approached with surprises and unpredicted events, he didn't have to count to three before flailing and screaming when forced to improvise. Like when Agent Hill told him he had a visitor in his office waiting to speak for him when he was certain he neither had any appointments nor anyone who would want to speak to him face-to-face today or any day—he took it all in stride and made his way to his office, leaving the inevitable questions in his mind in their compartments to prod around at later.

When Fury reached his office, the guest—an unfamiliar tall man with blond curls—was already sitting at a chair before his desk, hands folded neatly on his lap. Fury couldn't resist giving the man a brief once-over at the sight of him; he looked like nothing that would associate himself with SHIELD and more like a young businessman who was meant to attend a job interview in New York City and unwittingly wandered into SHIELD headquarters instead. Why any of the other agents let the man in his office, Fury had no idea.

The man turned in his chair and stood up, bowing his head. Fury raised his eyebrow in acknowledgement, wracking his memory to locate the smallest scrap of recognition as to who this stranger was and why he was here.

"Have a seat," said Fury.

The man obliged quietly. Fury made his way around his desk, clearing away the papers that piled up on it like a mess of leaves.

"I don't remember making any appointments with anyone lately," said Fury, sweeping the papers into a desk drawer. "In fact, I don't remember having any visitors dropping by for a nice chat either."

When he looked up from his papers to the man, Fury froze. Those blond curls smoothed and blackened , the soft facial features sharpening, and all signs of unfamiliarity melting away with the shape-shifted façade as Loki sat before him, as prim and proper on the chair as a soldier, blinking innocently as if there was nothing—absolutely nothing—wrong with this situation.

If it were anyone else but Fury, Loki would have had seventeen bullet holes already through his chest before security could even knock on the door. But Fury was not high-strung, and he continued to remind himself that when he laid his eye on the ex-war criminal sitting before his desk like a student waiting to speak to his teacher. He could only stare, trying to determine if Loki was only a figment of his imagination.

"Making an actual appointment with you would have been a little difficult on my part, to be frank," said Loki.

Fury opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"Thought you didn't talk," said Fury.

"Well, that changes everything," Loki said with a light smile.

Fury should have called down security, or at least pointed a gun to Loki's head and demanded answers. After all, the last time he saw Loki was when he nearly blew up half of the headquarters after Tony thought he could manipulate magic to his will. Now, Loki was talking as if nothing wrong had happened to him, still sporting the half smile that questioned his honesty, except he was gaunter than usual, if that was even possible.

"I have every reason to kick your ass out of my office and put you in a secured safe," said Fury.

"You and I both know I can easily disappear from that situation without much effort," said Loki.

Fury's eye flickered to the metallic glove on Loki's hand. "Stark fixed you up, didn't he?"

"A wise guess," said Loki.

"Yeah? Since when did Stark trust you enough to give you back your magic tricks?" said Fury.

"You sound skeptical," said Loki.

"Sure I am. You blow things up every time I see you."

"And yet, here I still am," said Loki, gesturing with a sweep of the hand. "And everything has yet to be combusted. If you truly didn't think I was trustable, I don't think we'd still be talking right now."

Every voice of common sense in Fury's head was telling him to shut Loki's trap and get him out before he could cast his magic, but there was something different about Loki now that made Fury hold steady—not the gauntness or the delicateness of his voice, but the bluntness he spoke with. The rawness in his eyes. Honesty.

"We both know that I'm the last person you'd have a tea party with," said Fury. He pulled up his chair and sat on it, studying Loki suspiciously. "So you better spill fast about what you want before I call people down here to deal with you."

"Tony told me," said Loki. "How your superiors demand my head."

"Right," said Fury. He rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Well, you can tell Stark that—"

"He's right," said Loki.

Fury raised an eyebrow at Loki. "Come again?"

Loki was calm, even to the end.

"No matter how anyone looks at it," said Loki, "people have died under my hand. And nothing was properly done to repent for it."

Fury gawked at him.

"So that's it?" said Fury. He was tempted to laugh. "You're not going to be dragged out kicking and screaming? You'll just hand yourself over so that the next step in your plan can be accomplished?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," said Loki.

"What the hell are you talking about?" said Fury.

This time it was Loki's turn to hesitate. He pressed his interlocked fingers against his lips in contemplation, eyes deep with pensiveness.

"Even with my powers, I cannot bring back the dead," said Loki. "Nor can I change what has been done. Repentance does little, as does compassion. And if nothing is done, can either truly exist?"

"Since when did you feel sorry for killing a couple of ants, according to you?" said Fury.

Loki's eyes flashed, but he did not move.

"I've lived a long life between now and the last time I was in this city," said Loki. "I've learned a great deal." He raised an eyebrow. "If Thor could so quickly turn from his ways of arrogance and racism in a matter of three days, I wonder why people find it hard to grasp that I could change my mind after several hundred years."

Fury crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"So you're not here to hand your ass over," said Fury. "What the hell do you want?"

"Your Avengers and I will leave Midgard today," said Loki. "Danger brews outside of Midgard and they have—stubbornly—put themselves on the line. Thanos plans to wage war on all the Nine Realms, and this may be the only chance to stop him."

"Hold the phone," said Fury. "_Who _is waging war? _War_?"

"I have little time to repeat myself," said Loki. "To put it shortly, I will leave your realm with your heroes to fight an enemy that threatens all our homes. Let this be my chance of repenting, Director. I cannot bring back the lives I've taken, so let me try to save the ones still left."

Fury's mind was in a storm of confusion. What was this war that Loki spoke of? Why was he only hearing of this now? Why did none of the other Avengers inform him that they were _leaving the planet_?

"Tell me you're lying just to mess with me," said Fury. "Who the hell are you? You aren't Loki. Loki wouldn't put his life on the line for a mess of mortals."

Loki gave Fury a crooked smile.

"Well, your Avengers wouldn't put their lives on the line for a fool like me," said Loki. "And yet they've already done so. If mortal lives are subject to so much change, think of how many changes can occur in a life of two thousand years."

Loki lowered his hands onto his lap. Fury only now realized how skeletal Loki was, and how the smallest tremor ran down his limbs. If Fury hadn't known any better, he would think that Loki was ill.

"And," Loki said, "your council does not need to worry about demanding my life anymore."

"What are you talking about?" said Fury.

Loki's smile was small and sad.

"I am the last to depend on certainty," he said, "nor am I ever in the Norns' favor, but I do not think I was meant to come out of this war alive, victory or loss."

Of all the sharp eloquence that Fury was so blessed with, he now found himself at a loss of words when an old enemy admitted that he was possibly going to die. Fury could only stare at Loki, trying to piece together all these drastic changes to form some sort of window to understanding. Loki was the god of lies, he knew, but he was weighed down with so much honesty that Fury knew there was nothing untrue about what he said.

"So what?" Fury said when he finally found his voice in all its gruff glory. "You're coming here to give a last teary goodbye? What's the meaning of this?"

"I admit, Director, if I was meant to give a goodbye to only one person, I would not waste it on you," said Loki. "I thought it only fair to tell you…you needn't worry. Your council's wishes will undoubtedly be met. And you won't have to deal with me anymore." Loki bowed his head slightly. "And—if this can be in any way reparation for what I've wreaked upon your world, then please—please accept it. It is little, but I know not what else to do."

There was silence between them. When Fury found his voice, he had yet to rediscover his senses.

"I don't get it," said Fury. "You're just letting yourself die? After kicking around New York City like some pompous Godzilla and demanding everyone bow down to you, you come back here to me to tell me you're sorry and you're going to let yourself die for the sake of—for the sake of practically everyone?"

And most of all, _why?_

"I want to change," said Loki. "Let me change, as you've let the poor and downtrodden under your wing change." His smile was broken in a way that almost hurt, that shook all predisposed opinions and understandings. "I want to do good for those who were far too good to me. For once, I want to _be_ good."

You can't be good, Fury once would have said. You're the god of goddamn mischief, you killed countless of people intentional or not, you've maimed hundreds, you tried killing your brother, you've done things no one should be forgiven of.

But instead, after a pause of speechless, Fury said, "I want to believe you."

Loki exhaled softly.

"That's all I ask," he said.

Fury didn't know what else to say. Was he supposed to mourn? To worry? To rejoice? He didn't know what to feel except a strange rush through the hollowness inside him. When everything he once thought he knew about Loki diminished into something unrecognizable and he wondered if he had blinked, if he had looked away too soon to see the change, and how much he had missed.

A knock on the door interrupted the silence.

"I ought to take my leave," said Loki. He stood from his seat. Fury wondered if he was supposed to shake his hand. "Thank you…for your time, Director."

"Wait," said Fury. Loki paused. "You—my Avengers better come back in good shape. Don't you let them get into trouble, or throw them under the bus. If you want to be good, make sure they come back safe and sound to a safe and sound Earth once this war is won. You hear?"

Loki blinked before smiling.

"If by my life or death I can protect them, I shall," said Loki.

The knocking became more persistent. Loki glanced briefly over his shoulder before giving a soft sigh.

"Farewell, Director," said Loki.

And with a shudder—as if the air shifted around them—Loki disappeared. Fury found his will a moment too late.

"Goodbye," he let himself say.

Just as the word escaped his mouth, the door opened and the agent stepped inside, files in hand to deliver to Fury. The agent frowned quizzically at Fury, blinking as if wondering if he misheard.

"Goodbye?" said Coulson. "I only just came in."

* * *

They all stood on the roof of Stark Tower, the sun directly above their heads. Anyone looking up would think it was a glare of light, or perhaps that Tony was experimenting with laser shows, which was a reasonable assumption. No one would notice the Bifröst, and if they did…well, this city had seen worse.

Pepper stood beside them, her eyes red but her composure otherwise impeccably calm. The others pretended to not notice how closely she locked fingers with Tony, and how distraught Tony looked at the thought of her anxiety. They shifted their gazes away to their packed weapons or other provisions, double-checking and triple-checking that everything was in the right order. Though, what was one arrow or one knife missing going to make a difference?

"I want to come with you," Pepper said for the fourth time.

"Pepper," Tony said.

"I know," said Pepper. "I shouldn't. I wouldn't be able to help. I'm not a warrior like any of you, but for goodness' sake, I'm just as desperate to stop this Thanos as the rest of you. And you, Tony Stark—" She poked him viciously in the chest. "You—as much as I want to trust that you'll take care of yourself, I'm always afraid you _won't_. If you get hurt up there, if you get yourself into trouble, you—you are sleeping on the doorstep of this tower for a month. Make that _three. _Because I'm rooting for you down here and I'll be waiting and I won't forgive you if you get blood on the carpet."

"There's my strong warrior," said Tony, giving her a kiss. Loki readjusted the straps of his armor to pretend he was not aware of their intimacy. He was all too aware of how many people would not appreciate it if any of the mortals returned to Earth with so much as a scratch on their chin.

He cast a glance at the sky, his mouth suddenly feeling impossibly dry. He did not know what to think about returning to Asgard. Relief? Fear? Pain? Asgard was his home in another lifetime, but that lifetime was not his anymore. He was treated like he was made of ice when he had returned from Midgard in chains, people staring with disbelief and uncertainty at their fallen youngest prince, who in the span of year went from the casual trickster to the mad, radical murderer and no one tried to understand why. They would not trust him; Loki could not think of any reason why they would.

And Father…

He closed his eyes as a pang struck his heart. He never forgot the look of disappointment in Odin's face when Odin looked upon his prisoner of a son. And when Odin had given Loki back to Thanos when Thanos had offered—

Where was the anger? The indignation? The resentment that Loki was so familiar with? But he knew no matter how many times Odin hurt him, and no matter how many times Loki shamed Odin, Loki would crave for a father's love, a father's gaze upon him that did not burn, and he didn't think to feel ashamed of such sentiment anymore.

"Are we ready to depart?" Thor said.

Pepper wiped her eyes discreetly with the back of her hand before giving Tony another peck on the lips.

"I'll step out of the way," she said.

"I'll see you soon," Tony said.

Pepper smiled, giving Tony's hand one last squeeze before turning away. She hugged the other Avengers and Loki goodbye before descending from the roof and back into the tower. Tony watched her leave hungrily before forcing the armor's mask onto his face and turning away.

"You sure we can withstand this rainbow bridge of yours, Thor?" said Bruce.

"I think you of all people have little to worry about," said Tony. "If the Other Guy can protect you from a wave of gamma radiation, a roller coaster shouldn't do you in. Will you be all right for travel, Bambi?"

"I ought to be," said Loki. "The arc reactor keeps the Mind Gem from doing any worse damage than it already is."

"Are we certain about that?" said Steve.

"Certainty takes too long, Captain," said Loki. He nodded to Thor. "We are all ready."

Thor raised his face to the skies. "Heimdall, do you hear me? Open the Bifröst!"

The clouds overhead shivered on command. Suddenly, a bright ray of light descended upon the tower, pulling at them as if it conjured invisible hooks and snared them into the sky. Loki was swept off his feet, shuttling into the heavens as the Bifröst sucked them cleanly off of Midgard. He could barely see the others hurdle beside him as the rushing jets of colors intertwined about them.

He felt the Mind Gem twist in his chest and he held his breath, his head spinning.

_Not now. Not yet._

He could see Asgard—a pinprick of gold—before them, and he closed his eyes.

Solid floor met his feet roughly, as if some invisible force took a hold of him and forced him onto ground. He nearly stumbled, letting out a gasp as the dregs of the Bifröst's power still clung to him. Thor shook off the trip carelessly, as unaffected by the Bifröst as the mortals were disturbed. Steve looked green in the face and Tony was stumbling like a drunkard.

"That. Was. Awesome," Clint said, clutching the side of his head. "Let's do that again later."

"You're lining up for that roller coaster alone, buddy," Tony said, gagging.

Loki almost chuckled, but found that he was feeling just as ill as Tony looked. He had utilized the Bifröst frequently in his life and was no stranger to crossing between realms, so why did he feel so unwell after one trip? He swallowed, his mouth worryingly dry and his breathing difficult, and tried to hide his discomfort behind his trademark emotionlessness.

He turned to Natasha, only to see her eyes were fixed on someone else. When he looked up, he felt a jolt of wariness and clenched his teeth. Of course. He should have remembered that if he was returning to Asgard via the Bifröst he ought to expect to run into Heimdall.

Heimdall stood as unmoving as stone at his post, hands still curled around his golden blade. His ocher eyes fell upon Thor, who strode up before the gatekeeper. Loki fought the urge to step back, as if a foot more of distance was all it took to draw Heimdall away to not affect him.

"Thank you for bringing us, Heimdall," said Thor.

"Word has been sent to the king of your arrival, my prince." said Heimdall. "They would be glad to hear of your return."

His voice was as delicate as ever, and Loki could not help but begrudgingly think that at least certain things did not change in Asgard during his captivity.

"Then he will be expecting us soon," said Thor. He turned back to the rest of them. "Is everyone all right?"

"I wish you could have warned us that this bridge was essentially a wormhole of horror," said Bruce, rubbing his temples.

"I apologize," said Thor, "except I do not think even a word of warning would have prepared you very well."

Heimdall's eyes landed on Loki. Loki stiffened, clenching his teeth at Heimdall's unfailing gaze. He still remembered that, despite whatever argument Heimdall may have in defense, Heimdall did try to attack him when he was in all technicality and legality king of Asgard. He kept his gaze fixed on the back of Thor's head, pretending he did not notice Heimdall's watch.

"Prince Loki," said Heimdall.

"You can forego the address, Heimdall," Loki said. "I would think that sometime between my imprisonment and now I would have lost my title by now."

"And you needn't think that is the one thing that is different during your time on Midgard," said Heimdall.

"I take it you are happy to see me again," said Loki with a raise of an eyebrow.

"You've grown, my prince, in your time away," said Heimdall. "It was always a wonder how quickly you can change." He paused before bowing his head. "It is good to see you better."

Loki said nothing. There was no lie or scorn in Heimdall's voice, but neither was there a warm welcome. Why would Heimdall care if Loki was 'better' now? Both had tried to attack the other, betrayed the other, with no word of reconciliation in between. He wondered how much Heimdall had seen of him in Midgard and he cast a sidelong glance at Natasha.

"Shall we make way to the castle now?" said Thor.

"Hold up a sec," said Tony, pulling off his helmet. His hair looked as if a tornado had tried to eat it. "I'm still trying to get my sea legs. Er—my space legs."

"I can't believe it," said Steve. "We're in space. I mean—we're in a completely different planet. I can't wrap my head around it—we're in a new world."

"Loki?" Natasha said.

Loki turned to Natasha, raising his eyebrows.

"You look…sick," she said.

He mentally cursed. "I haven't traveled via the Bifröst in a while," he said, the lie smooth as silk. "I must have lost my touch."

He stepped forward to follow Thor out of the Observatory, but the world spun as he lifted his foot. He saved himself from stumbling forward, but his lungs felt constricted and his limbs fatigued as if fevered. He rubbed his sore chest begrudgingly—why couldn't he dig his fingers into his chest and rip the Mind Gem out right here and now?

"Are you better, my friends?" said Thor to Tony and Bruce, who were still recovering from the tumultuous trip. "The walk to the castle will be closer to half an hour, but we can call for horses if you'd prefer."

"No," Tony and Bruce said simultaneously. Tony tucked his helmet under his arm, straightening his back.

"See? Good as new," said Tony. "I just…well, I prefer traveling with my suit."

"I've called for an escort for you, my prince," Heimdall said.

Thor furrowed his eyebrows. "Escorts? Heimdall, we are all grown, we do not need—"

"_Thor_!"

Thor spun around just before a figure launched toward him, throwing its arms around his shoulders and grasping him tight. Thor stumbled back in surprise before recognition settled in and he gave Sif a crushing embrace. Loki felt his level of wariness skyrocket at the sight of Sif and he blindly felt for Natasha's wrist. She sensed his discomfort and gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

"It is good to see you again, Thor," Sif said once she broke away. Her dark hair was bound into a tight ponytail like a whip and her blades at her side numerous, and yet in her formidability she glowed with excitement. "It has been far too many months since you were home."

"And it was time well spent, my friend," said Thor. "There is much we must do to prepare for Thanos' war, Sif. We must—"

But before Sif could hear the rest of what Thor said, her gaze flickered toward Loki and her eyes widened. Loki gritted his teeth with half the mind to go about as if he never saw her. It was disconcerting, to say the least, for the very people that betrayed him as king to be the first ones he saw when he returned home.

Sif stiffened at the sight of him, her jubilation falling from her face immediately. She slowly approached him, her gaze on him stony and threatening. Loki stood his ground, only able to imagine what sort of unpleasant thoughts about him ran through her mind. She was as fierce and as quick to glower at him as ever, he noted wryly.

"Loki," she said.

"Lady Sif," he said.

She set her jaw. "You look like you've seen awful days."

"Does that please you?" he said.

Loki had prided himself in being able to predict many of Sif's next actions. She was a fighter, a perfect example of an Asgardian warrior whose loyalties dictated her thoughts and actions to a T, and therefore extremely predictable. But if he was truly, truly honest with himself, he did not expect her to slap him across the face.

The strike echoed throughout the Observatory, rivaled only by Clint's low whistle of sympathy and indulging approval and Tony's yelp of surprise. Even Natasha stared with raised eyebrows, as if torn between disapproval of Sif's violence and humor at Loki's look of absolute bafflement.

"Why," said Sif, her voice dangerous, "do you assume that I would wish that for you, you absolute idiot?"

"Let's not resort to violence so quickly, I've barely said anything yet," said Loki, his cheek still stinging.

"You are—" Sif punched him in the chest and he couldn't suppress his groan. "—an utter—" She hit him straight in the stomach. "—and insufferable—" Now his shoulder suffered under her fist. "—fool, Loki Odinson, if you think I hated you so much I would wish that much _harm_ on you."

"Sif, let's not make him a casualty before the war has even begun," Thor said, unable to keep the humor on his face from escaping.

"So I take it more people than just the king and queen know about my run-in with Thanos," Loki said to Thor, one eyebrow cocked accusingly.

"Will you make a jest about everything?" said Sif.

"Of course," said Loki. "When the very person I thought abhorred the very core of my being accuses me of not trusting that she cared—"

"Abhor? I did not _abhor _you," said Sif. "I objected to your deceitful ways. I distrusted your antics, and rightly so. I was angered by your weapon of a silver tongue. But I never hated you, you arse of a prince. And to think you thought I would rejoice in what you suffered."

Her glower was enough to make him feel as if he shrunk five feet. He discreetly dug his fingernail into his skin to make sure this wasn't all some sort of hallucination.

"We mourned for you, you dolt," said Sif. "Asgard mourned for her buffoon of a prince, and here you thought that we wouldn't _care_ if—"

Loki laughed, startling her.

"If you wanted to say welcome back," said Loki, "you could have easily just done so."

Sif looked as if she wanted nothing more than to grind her heel onto his toes.

"You make me regret my words, you truly do," Sif said. "I still haven't forgiven you. For anything. _Anything._"

"Now that is unexpected news," Loki said.

Sif drew her arm back to punch Loki again, but finally swallowed down the impulse. She nodded to the Avengers around her. "Welcome, Midgardians, to Asgard. Thank you for coming to us in our time of aid."

"Sure thing," Clint said with all the elegance and formality he could muster. It took little effort for Loki to tell that Clint thoroughly enjoyed how Sif physically assaulted him.

"Come with me," said Sif, making her way to the mouth of the Observatory. "I will take you to the castle, and you will meet the All-Father. Everything is already prepared for your arrival."

Loki waited with baited breath for the others' reaction as they stepped out of the Observatory into open air. The effect was immediate; as soon as they walked onto the bridge and the open space surrounded them from every direction, a collective gasp fell around him. Even Loki felt overwhelmed by the light years of stars and planets around him, and if it weren't for the fact that he was standing upright and that he could see Asgard on the other end, he might have thought he was falling again.

"Holy cow," said Tony. His eyes were wide with wonder. "Being in the middle of space doesn't give it justice. It's like the galaxy is wrapped around us."

The rainbow bridge pulsed at their every step, solid like ice and yet free-form like the lights. Bruce bent down briefly to touch the surface.

"This isn't even made of any kind of glass or stone," said Bruce. "I feel it on my hand, but I half-expect for my fingers to go right through it."

"Mortals never do take things for granted, do they?" Loki said with a crooked smile.

"Ain't no one got time for that," Clint said with a snort. "Watch yourself, Natasha."

Natasha looked up at Clint and gave him a reassuring nod. She had been closer to the edge than the others, leaning just enough to look down below them. There was no end to the plummet, and Loki could see its depth reflect in her eyes.

"How fares Asgard at this time, Sif?" said Thor.

"We are prepared for battle," said Sif. "There were spies—Chitauri spies—that had infiltrated the Vault and stolen many of the Gems. The gauntlet is still with us, but Thanos possesses Time, Reality, and Soul."

Thor exchanged a knowing look with Loki.

"We've been ready for Thanos ever since," Sif said. "Truthfully, we tried to be ready when he had come to Asgard—" She paused for a moment before quickening her steps, her voice rough. "—Anyway, he will not take from us so easily anymore. We've prepared sanctuaries for our civilians for them to retreat to by the end of this week, and all our troops are in order."

"What of the Tesseract?" said Loki.

Sif raised a dark brow. "Why do you ask?"

"Now, don't suspect me of anything just yet," said Loki. "The Tesseract has unlimited power. Surely even Thanos must yield to it."

"The Tesseract is currently being used to keep the Bifröst intact and working," said Sif. "We take it out for some other use, then the Bifröst will break immediately and we can hardly afford a _second _time."

"If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you were accusing me of something, Sif."

"Then it's very fitting that you really _don't _know anything."

"And what of the other realms?" Thor said, quickly intervening. "Are they prepared as well?"

"The Queen had contacted Vanaheim to warn them and ally ourselves with their forces," Sif said, still grimacing at Loki. "She will depart for there again in two days for last-minute preparations."

"And what of the elves and the dwarves?"

"Alfheim has finally opened negotiation with us, but our delegates remain there still and we have yet to know the final verdict," said Sif. "The Dark Elves were reluctant to have anything to do with us, but we've agreed not to kill each other while Thanos was killing us."

"That is progress indeed," said Thor.

"Still can't believe elves are real," said Tony. "Hey Clint, I think we can finally find your kin."

"You're hilarious," said Clint.

"And what of the Frost Giants?" Loki said.

Sif opened her mouth and then closed it, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. Loki wondered if she knew, and precisely how many others knew about his heritage. One thing for sure, he doubted that Thor had found out by putting two and two together long ago.

"Mama, look!"

A young voice shook him from his thoughts and he stiffened. They had entered the city without his realizing and all of a sudden he feared being swallowed whole. The townspeople spotted the party entering Asgard from their windows and their stables, rushing from one place to another to get a better look. Children crawled onto the roofs of their homes to catch sight of their princes and the unfamiliar companions while their parents watched the procession with wide and curious eyes.

Loki clenched his teeth. It hit him—again—that he was returning to Asgard, to his _home, _and he was more or less afraid. These people ought to hate him for what he had done to Asgard, to the throne, to Thor, for being a Frost Giant, for being many things, for not being many things—so where were the jeers that were to rain down on him? Where were the pieces of rotten fruit to throw, and the cruel names?

"Come, you fool," Sif said from the corner of her lips. She shoved Loki in the back until he walked side by side with the others. "You do not return to Asgard as a prisoner. Do not act like it."

Loki would have fought back with an equally sharp retort, only to find himself at a fit of disbelief. When he had fallen from the Bifröst, he expected never to see Asgard again—even more than that, he never expected to see anything again. And of course, with his luck, here he was years afterward—more or less alive than before, and returning to Asgard with no more muzzles or chains to bind him like an animal.

"Is that Prince Thor? Where has he been this whole time?"

"Was he away as an ambassador?"

"Did the war keep him away?"

"See his companions behind him! Surely they are not from here."

"They must be of another realm, to help us fight the war."

"Look at that man's armor, metal fit for the dwarves."

"Wait—the one that stands between Lady Sif and Prince Thor."

"Could that be—?"

"Is that—?"

The hushed exclamations around them made Loki's head spin. He was not unaccustomed to the whispers, as the court had not always found him favorable in his youth, but the townspeople had more or less left him alone, probably finding him an entertaining monarch whose magic made no difference whether or not they would have bread on the table or if their sons would be dragged into war. But all their mutters of astonishment made him jittery and he had to dig his fingers into his palm to keep from stumbling.

"Tell me," said Loki, barely moving his lips. "How public was the news that my justice on Asgard was—ah—interrupted?"

"Thanos did not come very quietly into Asgard that one time, if that is your question," Sif said.

"Well, that's delightful," said Loki. He let another pulse of magic intensify in his chest, smoothing away any blemishes in his façade of magic so that any sign of ailment was perfectly invisible.

"It's like we walked right into a fantasy book," said Steve, voice soft with awe. "Like we're in the Medieval ages or something."

"Yeah, like we just popped into a Time Machine and went back a thousand years," said Clint. "Do you feel at home here yet, Grandpa?"

"Whoa, you're the one with the bow and arrow, Clint."

Loki stifled a chuckle. It was fitting how childlike the others felt when they stepped into Asgard; their brief lives were barely enough for children compared to the eternity of Asgard.

"Prince Loki, Prince Loki—"

"How long has it been since he was gone?"

When they passed, the townspeople hastily remembered to bow around them, but Loki could still hear their words as they lifted their heads discreetly from their signs of respect and murmur to one another.

"They say Thanos had kidnapped him—"

"Was he in captivity this whole time?"

"Does he come back a prince or a prisoner?"

"Mama, I want to see him, pick me up so I can see him—"

"Pretty close-knit neighborhood, aren't they?" Bruce said, mildly amused.

Loki looked up and he felt his heart nearly stop in his chest. The castle loomed overhead, reaching sky high like a golden mountain until it cast shadows on the cobblestone roads. He realized then and there that here was where the court that mocked him lived, here was where his mother and father waited, the father whom he had no idea would be happy to see his return. Loki knew he deserved no warm welcome from Odin, after all that he had done—and yet here he was knocking on the front door and demanding entrance.

"Open the gates!" Sif called to the guards at their post on the portcullis. The guards promptly obliged and the iron barred doors split open for them, painfully slow and climatic. Loki suddenly wished that they had not walked so quickly through the city and ruefully wondered why they had left the Rainbow Bridge in such haste. His mouth felt ill and his head spun even more violently than before.

"Thor—" he croaked.

"The All-Father waits for you in the throne room," said the guard at the top of the gates. "See that he does not wait long."

The news did not ease Loki's lightheadedness in the slightest. He swallowed, his throat feeling thick in the insides.

"Thor, I will wait outside," Loki said.

Thor turned incredulously to Loki. "What are you talking about?"

"I shan't come inside," Loki said. He felt everyone's eyes fall on him and shame pricked his skin hotly. "Father cannot possibly—"

"Loki," Thor said. "There is nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," said Loki. It was the simplest lies that were always the hardest to make convincing.

Thor put a hand on the back of Loki's neck, as he had once done long ago.

"Come home now, Loki," he said. "It's been far too long."

Loki took in a deep breath and finally complied to follow Sif to the castle. Each step closer made his heartbeat multiply in speed and he wondered just how pathetic and embarrassing it would be for him if he had fainted out of shock before even reaching the doors. He took in deep breaths to keep himself from becoming more nauseous.

You are a fool, Loki thought to himself. After you had fallen, what did you care about Odin's opinion? What did it matter to you that he had been disappointed?

Nothing. Loki thought nothing of what Odin wanted when he partnered with the Chitauri to claim Earth as his own. But now was far too different. Now Loki cared, and hurt, and he remembered all over again how cumbersome sentiment it was, that it sent his heart in a fit of uncertainty and fear.

"Look," said Natasha all of a sudden.

Loki followed her gaze and suddenly felt the blood drain from his face. There, at the archway before the door entering the castle was a white-headed and regal figure far too familiar. Odin was outside of the castle waiting for them, and the moment his eye fell upon the entering procession, he immediately made his way to them.

No, he _ran _to them.

Loki felt the strongest desire to run away, but Clint and Steve somehow purposely positioned themselves directly behind him that he could not escape easily. Suddenly this courtyard felt far too narrow with nowhere to run or breathe, and Odin was coming so close, so quickly, until Loki could see his lined face. He felt his heart ache at the sight of his father's face, ache with pain and betrayal and anger and most of all _want_. He wanted his father again but how could he when he deserved no one? When all the horrible lies and anger between them were so scarring that they couldn't possibly move on as father and child?

Loki knew he deserved only one thing. As Odin finally came to them, his one eye wet and wide, Loki stepped away from the others, and fell to his knees before the king.

He heard a gasp behind him, whether it was one of his companions or one of the hands of the castle, he did not know. He cared not. With his head low and his back curved in a surrendering bow, he could not even bring himself to look at his father's feet.

"All-Father," he said, and it hurt to speak.

"Loki—" Thor started behind him, but Sif hushed him immediately. Loki found it difficult to breathe, but managed to speak with his strangled voice.

"All-Father, I am not worthy," he said, and he meant every word of it. "I know you would not want to see me here. I have hurt and betrayed you and all of Asgard time and time again. I've been nothing but heartache to you."

His arms shook underneath him and he felt the Mind Gem still have its hold on his being, even if it did not consume him, but he forced himself not to let himself fall or fail in speaking. Humility was by far a virtue he never properly acquainted himself with.

"I do not deserve to be your son," said Loki. He could see his fingers trembling as they pressed desperately against the stone ground underneath him. "But please—let me protect Asgard at this time. Let me be your servant instead, let me—"

But before Loki could say anything more, he felt strong arms wrap around his shoulder. He jumped, his breath catching in his throat, and dared to let his eyes wander upward. His heart nearly failed him at the sight of Odin kneeling in front of him, drawing him close.

"My son," Odin said, and his voice was choked. "My son, you've returned."

Why did he shed a tear for Loki? Why did he deign to fall to Loki's level and touch him? Loki didn't realize how much he was shaking until Odin hugged him tighter and the warmth of being in his father's arms was almost impossible to believe. He was frozen to the spot, all of his senses and mind failing him at the same time.

"Why?" Loki said in a strangled voice. "I am covered in the innocents' blood. Why do you still take me? I failed you. I shamed you. I—"

"And yet you come back to me," said Odin. "And that is all I ever wanted in this world. I've seen you at your darkest and I still love you."

Odin smoothed Loki's hair on the back of his head and Loki felt his throat burn. He remembered how much he hated Odin after falling from the Bifröst, how he would spit at the thought of his name. How he screamed for Odin's mercy like a child when the Chitauri tortured him with visions and memories. How his heart ached when Thanos dragged him away from his father's castle. How everything about Loki hurt Odin and Odin hurt everything about Loki and here they were, in each other's arms.

"I was the one that failed you, my child. I had hurt you in ways I never wanted. Forgive an old man, my son, for even in my age I am not wise. Forgive me—"

Before Loki could react, Odin pulled away from him and bent low, bowing to Loki with his forehead to the ground. Loki shook his head, overwhelmed until mute, trying to lift his father from his humility.

_No no no not for me I could never not for me don't—_

He nearly collapsed, his head resting on his father's as he grasped his shoulders tightly. He was a fool, a traitor, a criminal, a disgrace—and yet his father would wash his feet with tears.

When Odin finally raised his head to face Loki, Loki could not hold back the tears. His father's face was full of relief, was full of love, and Loki realized how he had never seen those sentiments as a lie on Odin's face before.

"All of Asgard will rejoice with us," said Odin. "My son had been lost, but here—now—he has been found. He has come home."


	36. Chapter 36

**Next week the setting goes a different route. That's gotta be fun~**

**Although today is in fact April 1 this chapter is not a joke. I was thinking of a joke chapter, but only for a second before scrapping the idea.**

**Onward to this chapter. And when you thought Thor was already having enough trouble...**

* * *

"Absolutely not."

Loki snorted, holding up the piece of armor. "Why are you so against it? Everyone else will be wearing one as well."

"You aren't," Natasha said, frowning at her muddled reflection on the metal.

"True, but I fight better in slimmer armor."

"That's a breastplate, for goodness' sake. Have you seen the way I fight? A breastplate would probably hurt _me _faster than I can hurt my opponent."

"Then what do you expect to use?"

Natasha gestured to her trademark black bodysuit. "I don't need armor."

"That's funny, because I think we're currently in the middle of an armory, meaning to fit you in some proper armor so a single shot of a rifle won't take you down," said Loki.

"Practically all the militaries on Earth don't need these outdated things anymore," said Natasha, lifting up an overlarge cuirass. "And we manage pretty fine."

"Really," said Loki. "That explains why they die so quickly in combat."

"It's not like armor is absolutely invincible anyway," said Natasha. "Or there would be nothing to worry about."

"That's what my charms are for," said Loki. "Enhancement can go a long way." He threw aside the rejected breastplate and fished around the bare racks for extra suits of armor. Most of the armory's contents had been stripped away in preparation for Asgard's warriors, with only a few weathered ones left behind of outrageous sizes.

"These are enormous," said Natasha. She held up a pair of boots and raised her eyebrows. "What is this, a size seventy? In men's?"

"You really are rather petite, aren't you?" Loki said, examining a suit of lamellar armor before realizing that they would reach down to Natasha's knees if she ever deigned to wear them. He threw them aside into the discarded pile. "I'm sure we can smith something for you quickly, if all fails. Though I have never been in the favor of blacksmiths."

"I told you, I don't need armor," said Natasha. "I work better dodging, not taking a blow. It'll only slow me down."

"I can hardly see how it would detract from your prowess," said Loki. "How do you feel about scale armor?"

"Tacky," said Natasha.

"Now you're just being difficult," said Loki. "I wear armor, but I like to think I'm adequately agile."

He turned away to hook the metal coat back on its stand before a helmet came flying at him and hitting him in his shoulder, nearly knocking him down. He spun around accusingly to Natasha's smug face shining down at him from on top of a wooden chest of gauntlets.

"So much for agile," she said.

"You certainly did not object so much when I was enhancing your firearms," said Loki, rubbing his back.

"No one complains about unlimited ammo," said Natasha. "But you're so insistent on me wearing armor while everyone else you don't fret over. Why don't you force Steve into some chainmail or something? Why me?"

"He has a shield. It suffices," said Loki.

"Bruce doesn't have a shield or anything," said Natasha.

"He has his beast. That is perhaps the best suit of armor anyone could ask for," said Loki. She raised her eyebrow skeptically and he sighed exasperatedly. "The others can keep away from their opponent if they need to. Tony already has his armor, and the Captain his shield. Nothing could make so much as a mark on the good Doctor and Clint's arrows can smite his enemy before they could touch him."

"If you think I can't defend myself just because of how I fight..."

"I don't doubt your abilities," said Loki. "Only that I fear the enemies'."

Natasha exhaled deeply, pressing her lips into a thin line. "I've survived this far without any help."

"Don't curse yourself," said Loki.

"Are you a superstitious person now?"

"Only an anxious one."

"Well, don't be. If you think I need the extra help because I'm a woman—"

"I am perhaps the last person who would underestimate a woman at this point in my life," said Loki. "I grew up with Frigga _and _Sif, remember."

"Speaking of which," Natasha said, giving him a crooked smile. "Is it Asgardian custom for women to slap people upon meeting them? Because it seems to be happening to you and Thor a lot."

Loki scowled. "Sif is a different matter. She will stop at no means to establish her physical prowess, much to the rest of our misfortune."

"Does Asgard not have that many women warriors?" said Natasha.

"I could hardly call it absolutely rare," said Loki. "We do have our Valkyries, after all. And Mother was a shieldmaiden upon wedding with Father."

Natasha gave a low and impressed whistle.

"But at least they wear armor to battle as well," Loki said.

"It's a good thing you usually wear your armor daily," said Natasha. "With all the sass you give, I'm surprised people aren't constantly punching you in the gut."

"I don't know how it is on Midgard, but punching a prince is more or less frowned upon."

"Prince or no prince, you'd deserve it," said Natasha.

"Funnily enough, you aren't the first to express that."

"I'm guessing Sif?" said Natasha, raising her eyebrows.

"If she had everything her way, I'd constantly have her foot down my mouth until the end of my days," said Loki.

Natasha gave Loki a smirk. "Did you used to like her?"

Loki nearly dropped the helmet in his hands. He quickly set it down before his fingers could lose grip on them and foil his façade of innocence.

"Her?" Loki said. "_Sif_? Natasha, I thought after noting my partiality toward you that you would figure out that I had a very refined taste in women."

"You're blushing," said Natasha. She grinned unabashedly. "Oh, you did, didn't you? So what are you two now? Frenemies? Exes?"

"I don't even know what those words mean," said Loki.

"Thor let slip that you liked a girl back in your childhood," said Natasha.

Loki felt his eyebrow twitch for irritation. He was going to kill Thor if the war wasn't going to do it for him.

"Thor's perception is less than stellar," said Loki. "He'll look upon a maiden offering to water a knight's horse and accuse them of elopement."

"Do you still like her?" said Natasha. "I mean, after not seeing her for who knows how long, maybe sentiments will resurrect itself after the reunion…"

"What? No!" said Loki. "Why would you accuse me of that? It only lasted a year at most in my youth, _you _are the one that—"

He only realized his folly when Natasha began snickering behind her hand and his face burned. He gritted his teeth and petulantly buried himself into the long racks of chainmail to avoid confrontation.

"I really ought to know by now not to trust your conversations," said Loki.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Natasha said, and he could practically _hear _her grinning victoriously. "Come on, a childhood crush is nothing to be embarrassed about. Unless it ended really badly or something."

"A thousand years tends to smooth over certain grudges eventually, you know," Loki said behind the chainmail.

"So something did happen," said Natasha. "Did you confess your feelings to her or something?"

"I sheared off her hair."

A beat, before, "Well, good thing my hair is already pretty short."

Natasha pushed aside the chainmail to reveal him, one eyebrow raised amusedly.

"I should ask your parents what sort of shenanigans you got in that earned you the title of God of Mischief," said Natasha.

"You could give them a month and that wouldn't be enough time for them to talk," said Loki. "The name certainly wasn't bestowed to me out of generalization."

"They must be the most patient parents in the world," said Natasha.

Loki smiled in spite of himself. "If you hadn't figured that out by now. They've been proving it time and time again. I hardly deserve them as my caretakers."

"Well, then, it's a good thing we don't earn our parents," said Natasha. She leaned closer, her hands holding onto the rack above her head. "You're a good son, Loki. Sure, you're not the perfect son—no one is—but if they didn't want you for you, I'm sure we wouldn't even be where we are now."

He nodded, mind hazed over with thoughts. It was strange to think how any of the smallest twist of events could have landed Loki in anyone else's arms besides Odin's when he was babe, if not Death's. How did the Norns choose for Loki to be adopted by the king of Asgard, of all people? But, in a sense, that was what all aspects of life were—at the mercy of slightest turn of fate. A precise dance upon a thin string, and somehow all the steps were miraculously in place.

"If only their ability to forgive was inheritable by name," said Loki.

"If that's what you want, looks like you'll have to work for it," said Natasha. "No cheating anymore. But I think you're on the right track, Loki."

"I hope I am," said Loki, placing his hands on the rack alongside hers, leaning closer. Natasha furrowed her eyebrows.

"You're paler than usual," she said.

"I'm hiding in the shadows, what would you expect?"

"No," said Natasha. She pushed the chainmail further aside and frowned. "Are you feeling okay?"

Loki's smile almost faltered, but he kept his composure. "Of course not." When she looked appallingly concerned, he added, "You've stolen the breath right out of my lungs, after all."

"Nice save, Casanova," said Natasha. "But I'm serious. You've been less healthy than usual this past while."

"Even I can be inflicted with a cold every now and then, can't I?" said Loki.

"Don't tell me that the mighty and powerful AEsir can get down with something like the sniffles."

Loki smiled, leaning closer toward her. Just before their foreheads were about to touch, the door to the armory swung open. Loki jerked immediately, bumping his head against the rack as Natasha swung away, chainmail in hand as if she were merely browsing.

"Am I…interrupting something?" Thor said, looking as if suddenly he wasn't so sure about slamming the door so heavily as he did.

Loki's eyebrow twitched but he flashed a sweet smile to Thor. Natasha raised her eyebrow curiously as if she were just as confused as Thor about the situation, comparing the chainmail with the breastplate.

"Loki's just insisting that I suit up Asgardian style," said Natasha. "Needless to say, I don't agree."

"It wouldn't hurt," Thor said.

"Yes, exactly," Loki said. "See? Thor agrees."

"Oh sure. The only time you two actually agree on something," Natasha said with a smirk. She shook the chainmail until the silver ringlets jangled. "This would go down to my thighs. Way too long."

"We can make adjustments," said Thor. "I assure you, the metal is very light and will not obstruct you."

"Thanks, Thor," said Natasha. "Maybe I'll try it out."

Loki clasped his forehead exasperatedly; he could practically hear Natasha's smirk with her back turned toward him.

"May I speak with you, Loki?" said Thor.

Loki blinked perplexedly. "At this moment?"

"If you do not mind," said Thor.

Loki shrugged and emerged from the chainmail wrack. Thor bowed his head in thanks and stepped inside.

"I'll be trying this on in the meantime," Natasha said, waving the chainmail as she headed toward the door.

"And keep it on by the battle, won't you?" Loki said.

Natasha rolled her eyes before exiting the armory, closing the door behind her. Loki cleared his throat, busying himself with dusting off his clothes as Thor approached him.

"You should consider persuading people more often," said Loki. "She kept insisting she had enough skill to avoid the use of armor."

"And you think she does not?" said Thor.

"It isn't that," said Loki, his cheeks growing warm. "Fellow soldiers want to look out after each other, don't they?"

"I do hope you realize that I already am aware that you have sentiments for her," Thor said.

The corner of Loki's mouth twitched, although he could feel the back of his neck burn. "How very observant of you."

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed I know," Thor said, raising his eyebrows humorously.

"Apparently you also told her about what happened _last _time I was foolish enough to harbor anything beyond tolerance for someone?"

"I may have alluded to it once."

Loki groaned. "Brilliant. We're in the midst of a war and now I have that to lord over my head as if everything else wasn't stressful enough."

Thor's face sobered. "That was what I came to talk to you about, Loki. More or less."

"What, the woes of my tenderly love-struck heart?"

"I meant the war, Loki."

"Right," said Loki. "Does Father need me to appeal to other realms for an alliance?"

"Where would you even go?" said Thor.

"Well, not Muspelheim," said Loki. "Last time any of us went there, it resulted in absolute disaster."

"You are still angry with me about that, aren't you?" said Thor.

"Not angry, per se," said Loki. "Still judging you for thinking that you could take on a whole battalion of fire demons when you wielded Mjölnir for a mere two days."

"Not to the dwarves, either," said Thor. "That will be my job."

"They are most likely still not very fond of me," said Loki.

"It's been nearly five hundred years," said Thor.

"Oh, you know the dwarves. Their anger is like their women. Grows fouler with age."

"Perhaps you should help the Avengers with the terrain of the land," said Thor. "Our soldiers will have the advantage of the battlefield, but the Avengers will not."

"Perhaps," said Loki, lowering his voice. He pressed his lips together. "Or maybe—" He paused before exhaling softly.

"What is it?" said Thor.

"I was thinking," said Loki.

"And?" said Thor.

"I want to go to Jotunheim," said Loki.

The look of perplexity on Thor's face would have been laughable if Loki wasn't serious. When Thor realized that Loki spoke the truth, he ran a hand bewilderedly through his hair, trying to catch his thoughts in tangible order again.

"You—you do?" said Thor.

"Yes," said Loki. Admitting it made his voice shudder, but he kept his calmness as if his life depended on it. "I…Thanos will not be merciful. Not to them, not to anyone."

Thor nodded silently, biting his lip. Loki crossed his arms protectively, unsure whether to take Thor's silence as approval or worry. There _was_ much to worry about; Loki had tried to destroy Jotunheim, after all, and no doubt that the Frost Giants hadn't forgotten that fact, new monarch on the throne or not. What if there was no alliance to be made?

"Will you go alone?" said Thor.

"Yes," said Loki. "You trust me with that much, don't you?"

"Of course I do," said Thor.

"Spare me the need to tell you that I know you're lying to me," said Loki. "Surely you don't accredit me so little."

Thor looked away.

"What can I say?" said Thor. "I fear letting you out of my sight. Out of my reach."

"I'm not a doll," said Loki. "I've survived this far on my own."

"If things were better, you would not have had to be alone," said Thor.

"No point in crying over spilt blood," said Loki. He quieted at Thor's somber face. "There is nothing to fear of the Frost Giants."

"What changed your mind?" said Thor. "You were not so inclined to help the Frost Giants before. And now, you will face them alone."

Loki gave a soft chuckle in spite of himself.

"Realizing that I can conquer my deeper fears," he said. "If so many others have shown me forgiveness, can I not pay it forward in some way?"

Thor placed his hand on the back of Loki's neck, an affectionate clasp that once made Loki feel constrained—trapped—possessed—but now he only felt safe. But Thor's eyes slid down to Loki's chest and graveness settled in those icy blue, and Loki became all too aware of what Thor was thinking.

"Loki," said Thor. "Are you well?"

"What will it take for you to realize I'm not a helpless maiden?" said Loki.

"Do not think I did not notice your ailment these past several days," said Thor. "Or more accurately, these past several weeks." His frown deepened and his hand gripped tighter on Loki, as if to keep him from running from the truth. "Your magic holds your glamor impressively, Loki, but it cannot fool me."

Loki clenched his teeth. "I don't know what you speak of."

"Will you never tell me when you are hurt? When you are in need?" said Thor.

"I'm in need of nothing," said Loki.

"Loki, please," said Thor, and his voice nearly broke. "If one day, I look for you—I search for you, and instead I find you—I find you gone, or ill, or beyond help, and it would be too late, what could I do? Don't do this to me—to Mother and Father—to Natasha. Please."

"_Don't_," Loki said, "use our parents or Natasha as a card to manipulate me."

"It is the truth," said Thor. "Every blow you deal on yourself, every hurt you shoulder on your own, is a blow to them. To her." Thor swallowed hard. "To me."

Loki shuddered and wished to push Thor's hand away before he could feel the tremor.

"What is it that you even ask of me?" Loki said.

"The truth behind your façade," said Thor. "What it is that inflicts you. What we can do to help you."

Loki wetted his thin lips. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, but Thor was here, holding him, begging him, and what could he do? What could he do but deal the blow that may hurt the most?

"It will not put you at ease," Loki said.

"The truth has that effect," said Thor. "But lies will only make the inevitable more painful."

Loki bit his tongue before gently pulling Thor's hand away from his nape. He could feel his own fatigue stir under his feigned visage, and the thought of releasing the shape-shifted look of health was already draining.

"Remember that you were the one who asked," said Loki.

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, letting the magic drain from his skin, worn and tattered. Without opening his eyes, he knew what came to light—the heavy shadows under sunken eyes, the worryingly gaunt face, the bloodless hue of his skin. The delicateness of the bone pressing too close against skin. The weariness that thrummed through his veins.

Thor made no sound as Loki's delicate but otherwise healthy appearance faded to reveal the truth—Loki's wasted, fading form that had hidden from view all this time. When Loki finally opened his eyes again, he saw Thor's face and he wished he had never acquiesced. Thor's face was so distraught Loki thought he had perhaps destroyed Thor's most favorite possession.

"Loki," Thor said, and nothing else.

Loki's mouth felt dry, and when he spoke his voice was as brittle as he looked.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Thor raised a hand to Loki's face. His thick fingers were heavy and tough against Loki's skin and he suppressed a wince. He knew Thor could feel the bones of his cheek jutting out too sharply, and Thor's touch was gentler than Loki remembered.

"The Mind Gem is doing this to you?" said Thor. "Even with its magic suppressed?"

"A contained fire still burns," said Loki.

Thor took in a sharp intake of breath, and Loki swore that if Thor's lips were truly trembling as he thought he saw, he would banish himself from the Nine Realms. He wished he could run away, but he was tired of running. He was tired.

"Loki," said Thor, and his voice shook uncontrollably. "Brother, are you dying?"

Thor, in all his slowness and bluntness, struck Loki where it hurt. And Loki remembered why he had been so willing to accept the title of the God of Lies—lies were easy, were safe, were gilded and cushioned the blow. The truth was too painful. The truth was too much.

"Thor," he said.

"Please," Thor said. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. "Please, Loki. Tell me the truth. Is the Mind Gem killing you?"

Loki couldn't bring himself to look into Thor's face. Thor's hand on his face felt both too comforting and too agonizing, a solid reminder of what he would leave behind.

"I had always been dying, I think," said Loki. "The Mind Gem only made matters better or worse."

"No," Thor said, his voice thick. "No. Tell me you are not certain. That you only guess, and you have no proof."

Oh, Thor, you foolish, naïve prince. The golden prince whose heart was too large for his chest that it shattered his ribs with each beat and weakened him with every pulse. Don't you see, that death is so real that it needs no evidence? That all it took to die was to live?

"I only just got you back," Thor said. "I just got you back. You were lost—far from my reach—and now you're here in my arms and you're telling me that soon you will—when? How much longer?"

"I don't know," said Loki. "Perhaps several months from now, or several decades. Thanos is a patient titan—so long as I would expire if I ever left him, he would not care how long it would take to retrieve the Mind Gem again."

"We will take it out of you," said Thor, feverish. "Eir knows all things healing. And we have Father and his powers—and the help of the Vanir—"

"Thor, do not do this to yourself," said Loki.

"Thanos is not the most powerful creature in this universe. No—these _blasted_—"

Thor tore himself away from Loki and sank a punch into a helmet rack. It stood no chance.

"—vile—"

The shelves of helmets toppled under his fist.

"—traitorous—"

The room shattered with the sound of clattering mettle upon stone.

"—worthless Infinity Gems—_they_ are not the most powerful things in the universe!"

A whole rack of breastplates fell to the ground, echoing painfully. Loki did not move a muscle the entire time, staring at the ground and shaking as Thor took out all his frustration, his anger and his agony onto his surroundings. Thor breathed raggedly, his impulse spent and his destruction evident around him. Thor let out a choked gasp and covered his mouth with his hand, suppressing whimpers.

"Not my brother," he said, his voice muffled from his fingers. "Oh Norns, please—take my eyes. Take my blood, my life. Not my brother."

Loki finally broke from his frozen state, silently placing a hand on Thor's shoulder. Thor took it gratefully, holding it so gently yet so tightly as if Loki was a dream, a fantasy that reality tried to dispel. Loki placed both hands on each side of Thor's head and brought it to him slightly, pressing a kiss on Thor's forehead.

"Be at peace, my brother," Loki said. "For me—be at peace."

* * *

"Lady Natasha."

The words came with a lilt of surprise—a curious reaction to hear from an all-powerful king. Natasha kept her mind calm as she clenched and unclenched her fist behind her back.

"King Odin," said Natasha. She was used to speaking with strangers; she was so adept with hiding whatever uncertainties her mind harbored and twisting the conversation to her advantage that she hadn't accidentally stumbled on her words for ages. But when it came to speaking the truth—when there was no guile or ulterior motive—she lost her upper hand. "Please just call me Natasha."

Odin bowed his head. They stood in the corridor, where they accidentally met—accidental in Odin's case, and less so in Natasha's. It was rare to catch the king alone, or to scour for a private place, in the midst of a war. But she couldn't help herself—she wanted to know.

"Is Asgard treating you well?" said Odin.

"Yes," said Natasha. "Very well. Our welcome was warm."

"It gladdens me to hear," said Odin.

"Do you have a moment?" Natasha said, the words spilling quickly.

Odin blinked in surprise.

"I mean, I know you must be busy, with a war coming and all," she said. "I just wanted to ask you something. Something that means a bit to me."

Odin bowed his head in resolve. "Anything you wish. It is the least I could do."

"I mean," Natasha said. "I'm not keeping you from anything, am I? I understand if you need appointments, or if you're headed somewhere you need to be…"

A dash of humble apology and acknowledgement of his ranking into her words, and she knew that she would not lose her much-coveted conversation with Odin.

"Please, do not worry," said Odin. "I will speak with you for however long you need."

She was certainly going to hold him up to that promise.

"Why do people in Asgard consider Frost Giants as monsters?" she said.

If he had expected sweet and fragile-looking Natasha to inquire something somewhat trivial or mortal, he certainly did not receive it.

Silence settled. She did not break eye contact with him, and neither did he to her. She could see the surprise, the guilt, and the grief in his eye with just a blink, the way his eye shone from the light of the candelabras. She knew she would receive an answer.

"Why do you ask?" said Odin.

"Why wouldn't I?" said Natasha. "We've come to find out a lot about Asgard with both your sons living under the same roof as us."

"I see," said Odin.

She was impressed by how calmly he took this, despite the emotional stun that the forward question may have had on him. What more did she expect from a king, after all? She didn't care if she did not ask subtly, manipulatively, as she was oft to do; she was not asking for the sake of a mission, or a paying benefactor. She was asking for herself.

"You know of Loki's true heritage, then," he said.

"Yes," said Natasha. "Thor mentioned Asgard's stereotypes of them a long time ago. And judging by the way Loki had looked at himself, he believed them."

"I never meant for him to be hurt," said Odin, and Natasha knew that he was genuine. "I never wished for him to find out about his true blood in the manner he did, with so much pain and disgust. I only wished to protect him from the truth."

"What's wrong with the truth?" said Natasha.

The flames in the torches crackled.

"Is being a Frost Giant really that bad?" said Natasha. "I mean, I get the whole racism thing. It happens on Earth too. But internalized racism is no better whether it's on Earth or in a place like Asgard."

"I did not seek to raise Loki to detest Frost Giants," said Odin, an edge to his voice.

Well, thought Natasha. You didn't do so hot with that.

"So," she said, "what went wrong?"

"My foolishness," said Odin. His voice was heavy and the shadows painted more lines on his face. "My foolishness and Asgard's difficulty to move on. If I could go back and change the ways of our mad world, I would. But war will make monsters of anyone."

"You haven't been in war with the Frost Giants since Loki was born," said Natasha. "But it still lives on. Even in the subtlest of ways. You remember that time Loki got attacked by the Chitauri on Earth and your queen came down to him? He ran off because he got hurt—because Thor accidentally said a passing comment that was extremely negative against Frost Giants. I'm not blaming Thor for anything, but it's a little disconcerting how those kinds of insults that demean an entire race live on so naturally."

"I can see where your frustration lies, Lady Natasha," Odin said. She was admittedly impressed that he wasn't yelling in some booming avalanche of a voice or towering shadows over him, like Thor was capable of doing. "In such little time, your world's views of people undergo drastic changes, from hatred to acceptance. Albeit not a complete acceptance everywhere, there is change. You've reached in decades what Asgard has yet to do in several millennia."

"Why?" said Natasha. "Why don't you banish this anti-Frost Giant culture? I don't know much about kingship, but don't you have the power?" Her voice became more and more feverish as she spoke, as if she could conjure a solution—or an answer—to this folly. "I bet there are fairy tales—lessons in school—even adult politics that attack Frost Giants, that bit by bit led to all of Loki's self-hatred. Why couldn't that be changed?"

She swallowed hard. "I should apologize, I think, if this is in any way insulting, but I want to know. Why, I don't know. The damage is done and I've got to look at the now and the future if things are to be made right. The fact that Loki found out he was adopted from another race isn't the sole source of all his emotional turmoil. But I just want to know _why_. Why did it have to be that way? Was there a way things could have gone better?"

Odin was silent at first and Natasha wondered if she had gone perhaps several steps too far. Instead of any sign of outburst, however, Odin only bowed his head humbly, his one eye gleaming nearly as much as the golden patch on the other side.

"You have every right to ask, Lady Natasha," said Odin. "And the least I can do is answer. I am king, yes—but I cannot tell my people how to think, how to feel, what to be afraid of and what not to be. Long lives of AEsir make change difficult, when we are constantly living in such an endless existence as ours. Midgard can change and grow in a matter of centuries—Asgard is not so blessed, not so fortunate as to be able to have new minds take place of the old time and time again."

"Loki and Thor changed their ways," said Natasha. "Changed probably a thousand or two thousand years' worth of past understandings and thoughts."

"Such is the effect that mortals seem to have on my sons," Odin said with a half-smile. "But understand—much of the generation that had lived through the war against the Frost Giants still live today with fresh memories, and they would not forget so much as to not influence their children with their fears and distaste."

He pressed his lips together in a way that reminded Natasha of how Loki would when he was lost in thought. "I tried to never tell Thor or Loki stories of histories that painted Frost Giants in a monstrous light, but to protect them from a culture that devalued Frost Giants would be to keep them from all of Asgard—from their companions, their peers, even their nursemaids. Perhaps I can ban my people from speaking aloud their resentment, or penning the Frost Giants in bad light, but I cannot ban them from thinking one way or the other. Nevertheless, I had not done what a good father ought to do for his son. I think I will regret it for the rest of my life."

Natasha clenched her teeth. She understood—she truly did—but it pained her still. To grow up only to find out that you were of a people that everyone else seemed to despise—how much pain could come forth from that? How much brokenness may still exist in Loki that she had yet to help him through?

"Were Frost Giants always the enemy of Asgard?" she said.

"No," said Odin. "But for the most recent several millennia, tensions ran high. I do not believe we had a successful and stable peace with Jotunheim since my own father was king of Asgard."

She didn't even want to ask how long ago that was.

"What about now?" said Natasha. "Who are the Frost Giants now?"

Odin did not speak at first, and when he did, his voice was soft; tender, even.

"A people worth fighting with," said Odin, "and a people worth dying with. And someday Asgard will know this."

"You must have known that for a while," said Natasha.

"You say this much for a long-foolish man?" said Odin.

"Loki's still your son, isn't he?" said Natasha.

A small smile flitted across Odin's features.

"I've heard you've grown close to my youngest," he said.

"We all have," said Natasha.

"In all your own ways," said Odin.

Natasha opened her mouth, but then resigned to her silence.

In the corridor perpendicular to them, several guards hurried past, their metal armor clanking heavily in the stone hallway. Odin turned away from Natasha, all sense of kingliness returning to him with the straightening of the spine and lift of the chin.

"I must leave you," said Odin. "My sons depart soon to negotiate with other realms, and I will see them off."

"I will you see you soon then," said Natasha, "because I will too." Remembering her manners, she gave Odin a small bow. "Thank you for your time."

"And you," said Odin. "Thank you."

"I don't think I've done anything to warrant gratitude recently," said Natasha.

"You do," said Odin. "For caring for Loki so much."

Natasha felt her skin grow warm, and she almost resisted smiling.

"I'm not even keeping a tally," she said.

Odin bowed to her—and she realized the implications almost a second too late. That the king of Asgard, a king that could easily smite her by blinking his one eye if he wished, bowed in respect and thanks to _her_, an ex-assassin who has done more damage than good in her time. She felt the urge to bow again, as if to even the playing field, before he departed, following the long-past guards.

She let out a sigh of relief, standing in the empty corridor. There really was no peace to be found, asking Odin all this. No moment of clarity, no answer to be sought, nothing. Only a reason why, and to wonder for what would come. If Loki would still be accepted by Asgard after the war was fought and won. If Loki would accept himself. Truly, how bad could Frost Giants be, if one loved her so tenderly as he did?

"Nat?"

Natasha spun around at the sound of the voice. Clint was peeking out from the other end of the corridor, emerging from the dank shadows. She frowned, approaching him. He did not move or say anything else, and he looked as if he regretted revealing his hiding place.

"Were you standing here the whole time?" she said.

Clint bit the inside of his cheek, and she could see the imprint of the stone against the side of his face where he pressed closely against the wall, trying to melt into hiding.

"I'm sorry," said Clint. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I couldn't help it. I felt awkward walking past the hallway, and I didn't think of backpedaling, so…"

"It's fine," said Natasha. "It's just that the conversation was really meant for just Odin and me. I don't think Loki would like it for a lot of us to know we discuss his race without him around or anything."

"Yeah," said Clint. "Yeah, I get that. I mean, I never thought of it. His race issue or anything, I mean, not your reasoning. I guess I never noticed. Scratch that—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I did notice something, but I didn't know if it was because he was just a really pessimistic person or what, so…"

"Just don't talk about it to others or anything, okay?" said Natasha. "There aren't any secrets or anything, but it doesn't feel like our place."

"I get that," said Clint. "Sorry again for listening in. I was sort of—interested."

The corner of Natasha's lips twitched into a smile. "You really are like a kid brother," she said.

Clint gave a half-chuckle, looking away. He cleared his throat, hesitated, and cleared it again.

"You know that Loki's leaving for Jotunheim soon?" he said.

"What? Jotunheim?" said Natasha. "When? Why?"

"In the next hour or so. Peace talks or something," said Clint. "Are you going to see him off? I mean, he'll probably be back within the next day or so."

"Well, since you told me, yes," said Natasha. "Is he leaving soon?"

Clint shrugged. He exhaled softly through his lips, tugging at his cropped hair.

"Nat?" he said.

"Yeah?" said Natasha.

"Do you love Loki?"

Natasha found herself speechless in front of one of the very few people she could be honest with. With Clint watching her waiting for an answer, and the absolutely, mercilessly bluntness of his question, she realized that she had no idea how to go about this question, no idea how to deal with it. And to Clint of all people—Clint, whom she cared so much for, and he for her, despite whatever had and may come between them.

What if he disapproved?

What if he was disappointed?

_(What's wrong with the truth?)_

"Yeah," said Natasha. Her voice was soft. "I do."

Clint opened his mouth, closed it, and then gave a small chuckle, letting his head hang low.

"What is it?" she said.

He shook his head, a small and crooked smile on his face.

"Steve owes me ten bucks," he said.


	37. Chapter 37

**In which Loki has learned some life lessons and his outlook toward the world is just a little better.**

* * *

"Are you ready?"

Loki felt his chest tighten, but he gave a short nod. He stood at the end of the Bifröst, his mouth dry as he lingered at the entrance of the Observatory. He wore simple armor and brought with him no weapons, nothing—nothing but the Casket between the spaces.

"Loki," said Thor. He stood behind Loki, a hand on his shoulder, and Loki wondered how little Thor thought of him if he did not trust Loki to take a trip on his own. "You do not have to go alone if you do not want to."

"Well, there's the catch," said Loki. "I do want to go alone."

He was apprehensive—there was no denying that. Scared, even, if he would dare to admit something as drastic as that. But he did not want Thor or the Warriors Three or anyone to accompany him to Jotunheim. This was his journey, his wounds to mend, his apology to make. The idea of backing out now did not cross his mind; only the Observatory and its yawing pathway through the stars.

"I ought to be back in less than several days, if even not today," said Loki. "You don't have to pine for me here."

"I will not," said Thor. His hand tightened on Loki's shoulder.

"I'll be fine," said Loki. "I am not so weakened."

"Bring Sif to accompany you—"

"Please, Thor," Loki said, his voice roughing up on its own. "I'd rather be on my own two feet until the end instead of you babying me as if that would push the inevitable further away."

A silence fell between the brothers and Loki realized how tactless he spoke. He refused to look at Thor, but he could still feel that broken gaze on the back of his head.

"All I mean," Loki said more calmly, "is that I'm perfectly capable. I'll be back as soon as possible, and I'll be all right. You mustn't spend your life worrying more about me than worrying about Asgard, or yourself for that matter."

"How can I help it?" Thor said. "When neither would be the same without you."

Loki let himself give a wry smile. "Composing love sonnets for your Jane have certainly left their mark on you."

He stepped into the Observatory, where Heimdall waited at his post to deliver him. Thor lingered behind, backing away to where the others who had seen Loki off stood. Loki let himself look back once, to his mother and father waiting down the Rainbow Bridge, to Thor, to Natasha and Steve who made time to bid him goodbye, and realized that they all trusted him—that at any other point in his life before this he would be accused of treachery or treason or mischief for disappearing on his own to Jotunheim, but now this was no longer the case. Truly, how far had he gone?

"Are you prepared, my prince?" said Heimdall.

Loki smirked. "How is it," said Loki, "that you would so readily show obedience to me as a mere prince than when I was rightful king?"

Heimdall said nothing. Loki drew his hood over his head as the Observatory began its spin, the gold and flashes of light meshing into a brilliant blur. The powers of the Bifröst hooked onto him with sturdy fingers and jerked him through its opening, rushing him through the folds of Yggdrasil.

Jotunheim was a lonely blue dot in the backdrop of galaxies, by far the weariest and rundown of Realms. Loki could feel that familiar gale of cold as he drew closer to the Frost Giants' home—how it did not swathe him with clean comfort as the cold usually did, but instead penetrate him cruelly like needles. The reason for this change in his sensitivity did not go unnoticed and he placed a hand over his chest as if that was all it took to squelch the Mind Gem.

Landing on his feet from the Bifröst was less smooth than expected and he stumbled in the snow, nearly falling to his knees. His head pounded and he rubbed his chest to regain his heavy breath, shivering uncontrollably as gusts of snowy wind nearly toppled him over. He pulled himself together, drawing his hood closer as he trekked down the crag that the Bifröst left him.

"Heimdall, not a word to the others," he muttered before coughing into his fist.

Jotunheim looked barely any different since the last time Loki set foot on the barren ice. The civilian towns, which had always been farther off from the castles and temples, were barely in sight from where Loki stood, and the buildings that were meant to be grandiose in size and style were thinned with age. The ground was uneven and old, fissures marring its surface from where the Bifröst once scarred it.

Clear signs of skirmishes presented themselves in the form of overthrown rocks and crumpled statues; the Kree clearly liked to play with their food before they ate it.

With each step that brought him closer to the Frost Giants, his heart shuddered. Each beat was a nervous kind of beat, the one that made the chest hurt and the lungs feel out of place until something sour and irrepressible ballooned in his stomach. Every time Loki was on Jotunheim, someone somewhere wished him dead (namely Laufey, now that he remembered). What made this time any different?

From a distant, he saw shadows moving in the snow. His mind panicked without his permission and his steps faltered, stumbling in the snow. His sudden movement must have caught their attention, because out of the corner of his eyes he could see the forms moving faster toward him. He swallowed hard, knowing that they could recognize him the minute they saw him, but forced himself to hold his head high as he struggled to take one step after the other forward.

The snow froze without warning about his ankles and he fell sharply. He panicked as the snow encircled around his wrists, locking him in place. Lifting his head, he could see the figures running now, hands outstretched as they commanded the snow and ice to their bidding, freezing Loki's skin as it handcuffed him to the ground.

No, this certainly wasn't supposed to happen. He hadn't done so much as breathe in Jotunheim and already he was getting arrested. He called up a surge of magic to melt away the snow, but resignedly let it go. If he wanted the Frost Giants' cooperation—if he wanted to _help _them—he couldn't make himself look like a threat.

He could only raise his head enough to look upon the Frost Giants' knees when they approached him. A rough hand grabbed him by the collar and jerked him up until he looked into the face of the one that apprehended him. A dark, gruff Jotun face glowered at him, so close to Loki that he could feel the cold breath freeze his lips every time the Jotun exhaled.

"Who is it?" the other Frost Giant said. Loki could not see him, but he sounded young like a pageboy. "Who intrudes upon our home?"

"I do not bring harm," Loki said, his breath tightening as the guard jerked his head higher. "I come only to speak with your queen. To bring warning to Jotunheim."

"He's an Asgardian," the guard said with a grunt. "And he came with no warning."

Loki couldn't see, but he was certain an ice dagger was poised in threat before him.

"Declare yourself, Asgardian," said the guard. "Why do you come unannounced to Jotunheim? Check his body—see if he has any weapons."

Stiff hands patted down Loki's armor. Loki winced at the force and struggled in the ice bonds.

"I am Loki of Asgard," he said. "I come with aid to your queen."

"The fallen prince of Asgard!" said the guard. "Was it not he that sent the Bifröst to destroy Jotunheim four winters ago? That killed old King Laufey on his pursuit of vengeance?"

"Rumor had it that he was stolen by Thanos," said the page. "The Asgardian king claimed so himself, and yet here the prince is and here Thanos strikes."

"The All-Father spoke the truth," said Loki. "Thanos had taken me, and Thanos wages war on all the Nine Realms."

"Does he wage war in search of you?" said the guard.

"No," said Loki. "He seeks the destruction of all living beings for his own pleasure."

The guard cursed. "Then what brings you here? To witness the death of your so despised enemies yourself? To aid Thanos in Jotunheim's demise?"

"I come to help," said Loki. He could barely feel his face as the cold air numbed him. It disturbed him; never had the cold been so cruel to him before. "I've come in repentance."

"He is the trickster god," said the pageboy. "The Liesmith. How can we trust his word?"

"I am very aware," said the guard. His voice was low and dangerous.

"All I ask," said Loki, forcing himself from chattering his teeth, "is that I speak with your queen. Please. I swear, I will speak my matter and be gone, and it will not be of harm."

"Was that not the promise you paid to the old king?" said the guard. "That you would promise victory and security to Asgard only to kill him and attempt a massacre on our people?"

Loki was beginning to fully appreciate the fact that they had not killed him on the spot, if they still remembered his crimes.

"I have no weapons with me," said Loki. "And—if you take from me the silver arc on my chest, I will have none of my seidr available. Will you trust me then? This arc keeps my magic unbound, but if you take it from me it will be depowered." He tried to shift to show his chest to the Frost Giants, but found himself still bound by ice. "Bind me, blindfold me, drag me if you must, but I must see your queen."

His brutal honesty stunned the Frost Giants—stunned even himself, for that matter. Without his seidr and with all his senses and limbs bound, he would be utterly defenseless. All of this was not even for his own sake, yet it mattered not. It was cruel to risk the safety and victory of an entire realm all for his own.

"Is there trickery in this request?" said the page. "Shall we hit him in the head first to be certain?"

The guard grunted. "He barely has the strength to lift his head on his own. Any blow of ours will only kill him."

Loki felt the ice melt away from his ankles and wrists and he breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he managed to pull himself from the ground and onto his feet, a cloth pressed itself against his eyes, forced tightly to the back of his head. His arms were wrenched back and bound and he wondered how the two would react should they touch Loki's skin and reveal the truth.

"Come," said the guard with a stony hand on Loki's armored shoulder. "Do not try to escape. An Asgardian cannot undo the ice that blinds and binds you, and you will sooner fall into the chasms than reach the site of your Rainbow Bridge."

The irony of such a bind was overwhelming, but Loki made no reaction. Now that he could not see where he walked, each step was more labored and precarious. The ground was uneven from the debris of battle and the permanent scars on Jotunheim's rock, and many times he stumbled. He could feel the guard's fingers press tightly on his shoulder and wondered if his skin turned blue underneath the leather and metal.

But their footsteps soon shifted from padded snow to the echoing of clean stone. Clanging of metal signaled to Loki that other guards were present, and the murmurs of voices were all too clear. They were nearing the castle and Loki could almost hear his heartbeat double its pace. Who was to say the queen would not order his head the moment she saw him? Thor said that she had no affiliation with Laufey—that she rose to power as a result of a coup d'etat—but that did not mean that she held no love for the old king.

"Who do you bring?" demanded an older voice before them. Loki felt a hand pull at his collar and realized how very lucky he was that no one touched his skin. "An Asgardian?"

"Loki Odinson of Asgard, sir," said the guard. "He requests an audience with our queen."

"Pah! What gesture did he make that made you trust him so easily?"

"At ease," said another. "Did Asgard not extend a hand of aid and alliance to our queen? Nothing so far has shaken their promise."

"Metal weregild and a few hammers in exchange for the lives of our brothers and sisters and children. They may smith us a promise, but they can never prove one."

"He claims he has news that will help us against Thanos' attack on our home," said the guard. "That he seeks to provide for Jotunheim and their victory."

"The Asgardians were not so keen on our survival before," said the head soldier with a scoff.

"Begging your pardon, sir," said the page.

"Speak," said the soldier.

"If they were not so keen, they would have continued destroying us with the Bifröst, and they would not have wasted their time and resources on repayment," said the page. "The Kree are able to drive our men back—they are few, but immensely powerful. If perhaps this could be our hope, our strength—besides, our men and our queen will not be so easily overpowered."

What a wise, young page the men had. Loki could hear an exasperated sigh of resignation before the sound of metal scraping along stone as doors were thrown open to accept him. The air changed just a mite warmer as he was led inside the castle, each breath and footstep echoing in the cavernous hall; despite so, he shuddered.

"Our queen, our queen—someone bring her."

"She is on her way; we've had one fetch her already."

"What child is this? Who do you bring between you?"

"Quickly now, she comes—"

Many voices rose from the silence and Loki was only now aware of how many people must have been present. He nearly took a step back when he realized that he must have been right in front of the queen, in front of the ruler of Jotunheim whose hands currently carried Loki's fate if she so wished.

The binds and the blindfold fell from him and the blue light filled his sight. He realized with a jolt how titanic the hall he stood in was—the ceiling could house Yggdrasil full grown if it wished, the carvings over his head intricate and mysterious. The windows of ice stretched far and wide and permitted hazy blue light into the hall, making the Frost Giants look as if they glowed when it fell upon them.

And his eyes fell upon her.

If Laufey was sharp and coarse, like a snowstorm personified, then the queen was a nighttime snowfall in Jotun form. She was tall—shorter for a Frost Giant, but a good foot and a half over Loki—with black hair coiled in a braid down her back. She looked older, with thin cheeks and many millennia in her red eyes. Even with the lack of royal symbols on her skin or overbearing muscle that many of the men bore, Loki found her foreboding in a way that he found Frigga foreboding when he had done wrong in the past and her temper threatened danger to all near her.

"What is the meaning of this?" said the queen. Her voice resonated impressively.

"Mother, this Asgardian has requested an audience with you."

Mother?

Loki turned to see who spoke. His eyes landed on an adolescent Frost Giant, whom he had been so certain was a mere pageboy. He was small—unusually small, no larger than an AEsir of his age, coming up to Loki's chin. Loki forced himself to keep his eyes forward, in case anyone thought him rude.

"So you bind him like a stallion to be broken?" said the queen. "Come, let him step forward to me if he wants to speak with me."

Reluctantly, the guard let his hand fall from Loki's shoulder and nudged him to take a step. Loki bit down on the tip of his tongue as he stepped forth, keeping his gaze steadily on the queen.

"And which Asgardian requests this?" said the queen.

"Loki, son of Odin," said Loki. He bowed his head in respect, in the meantime letting his gaze wander to his surroundings. Indeed, many Jotuns were with them in the room, surrounding the perimeter. He wondered if every day was like this or if he ought to be flattered that they thought him as such a threat that required all the helping hands.

"The famed prince of Asgard," said the queen. "Last time you set foot on Jotunheim, it did not bode so well for our people."

"I remember that," Loki said, slightly irate. Had they not already driven it in his memory that he was the last person to trust, but the first person they needed this moment?

She scrutinized him; there was something in those red eyes that scoured his mind and he restrained from thinking too brashly in case it were the truth. The tension in the air was enough to shatter into an avalanche the moment something dared to break it.

"And what is it that you come here for?" said the queen.

"To bring aid to Jotunheim in the time of war," said Loki.

The queen's small lips stretched into a smile before lifting her head to gain audience of her people.

"I request everyone's leave," she said.

The Frost Giants murmured amongst themselves, disbelieving and wary. When no one moved an inch, the queen outstretched her hand. A long staff of ice formed in her palm and she slammed its end onto the floor. It echoed loudly like a cannon and the incessant mutters ceased immediately.

"I will speak with Odinson alone," said the queen. "There is no need for this audience fit for a play. Too many ears can dilute a conversation."

One by one, the other Frost Giants reluctantly filed out of the hall. Many an eye glowered suspiciously at Loki as they passed; Loki paid no heed to them, keeping himself standing stock still and calm in front of the queen. The air felt colder as more people left, and the realization that he stood alone with the very queen of Asgard who may or may not truly believe Loki's intention dawned on him. Epiphanies were evidently not rare when finding himself in an unfamiliar and very precarious situation.

"You too, my son," said the queen to the young Frost Giant, page boy no longer. "Go tend to your brother, quickly."

The adolescent nodded and followed his elders out of the hall. The door echoed as it closed behind Loki, loitering in the hollow roof of the hall when it was only him and the queen. He did not bat even an eyelash as she descended from her post, the ice staff still sturdy and gleaming in her hand. The only thing of him that moved was his eyes as they followed her when she drew closer.

"Well," she said. "You came to speak, and yet you are mute."

"It only impresses me," said Loki. "How quickly you decide to trust me alone when your people are not so willing. And rightly so," he added with an afterthought.

"I like to think I have a knack of detecting truth from lies when people speak to me," she said. "And when the infamous trickster admits the truth, it is far more obvious."

"Is it?" he said. "It seems that my reputation has arrived earlier than I have."

"And your magic is quite depleted," said the queen with a shrug. "Even if you were lying, a bat against the head would have knocked you down."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "It is worn down, but I would not go so far as to say depleted." He furrowed his eyebrows. "And I do not think I've done anything yet to make you assume I was in poor shape."

A smile quirked on her lips. "Seidr is not so difficult to detect, especially in a sorcerer such as you."

"You'd be surprised," said Loki, remembering the many times Thor could not tell the difference between Loki's projection and his true body. "But I believe seidr is best sensed by fellow practitioners of magic."

"Tut, tut. Making assumptions of the queen you're bargaining with. Not very wise," said the queen. "Sorcerers in Jotunheim are rare, as they are in any other realm besides Vanaheim, but they are not extinct."

"You are a sorceress?" said Loki.

"Not enough to pride myself as one," said the queen. "Magic can be learned, but it is also gifted. I'm afraid I've only the former on my side."

"And you, admitting your weaknesses to a stranger like myself," said Loki. "Especially with all your men away. Very wise."

"And you think that the only power that is in the world is that of seidr?" said the queen.

Loki opened his mouth before his lips twitched into a half-smile. "I suppose not."

He gazed out of the window of ice, the surface hazed and spinning the sight outside like meshing paint, much like a glass of honey. He thought he could see the city where the townspeople lived in the distant. The city was not magnificent, but it was humble in a gentle way, not anything like the bustling liveliness of New York City or Asgard.

"Jotunheim is different from Asgard," said Loki. "Very different."

"I do not mourn it," said the queen. She approached the window, a long finger trailing the ice and leaving a clear path. "Laufey's reign had militarized our home, forcing us into the idea of conquest when our own homeland was neglected in return. Even when our forces were defeated, he would rather build weapons and shields than homes and farms. I thought we could finally focus on our people, the ones we should care for the most, when I took the throne and received the aid from your people." She let out a wry chuckle. "Only then did true war fall upon us."

"It is not a bad thought," said Loki.

"What is?"

"A kingdom that does not need to think of war," said Loki.

"Unfortunately, no such a luxury exists," said the queen. "The rest of the Nine Realms look poorly on us, after Laufey's attack upon Midgard and his subsequent failure to protect our kingdom. If Thanos was not so wonderfully fair about his genocidal desires, I'd say someone else out there would be very willing to take us down."

"You spit Laufey's name from your lips as if it is poison," said Loki. "A rare risk. I thought the dead were to be renowned."

The queen's eyes narrowed and she curled her fingers to form a fist. "He was cruel. A merciless king—an unworthy father of Jotunheim. His heart had hardened long ago and it had never beaten since."

"I see," Loki said, his voice soft. "And you?"

"What of me?"

"Who were you before Queen of Jotunheim? A duchess of sorts? A famed warrior?" said Loki.

"You flatter me," said the queen. "I rose to power because I had the vision that Jotunheim needed."

"And truly, what is it that Jotunheim needs?" said Loki.

"Care," said the queen. "To remember that they are people to be loved and love one another. Not to be only warriors hardened with battle to achieve whatever ends that may not be worth it."

Loki bowed his head. "I should have expected," he said.

"And why do you think so?"

"A seemingly petty reason," said Loki. "Your son is small. Very small, for a Frost Giant."

The queen scrutinized him, choosing her words carefully. "You do not underestimate him for his size, do you?"

"How can I? He bound me to bring me here, did he not?" said Loki.

"Good," said the queen with a smile that showed all her teeth. "He is very adept with his defense, after all. Many a peer who poked fun at his younger brother has realized that very quickly."

"He is your firstborn, then?"

The smile on the queen's face slid like frost melting in spring, revealing the deadened and barren earth.

"No," she said, and nothing more.

Before the silence could fester into something painful, Loki took in a deep breath.

"I have the Casket of Ancient Winters," he said.

She blinked once. Twice.

"A strange transition of subject," she said.

"That was what I came here for," said Loki. "You cannot fight off Thanos and the Kree if you are already weakened. The Casket restores the balance of power to Jotunheim, and I…I want to return it to you."

"You are willing?" said the queen, her voice quiet. "After all these ages of being in the dark, now you bring us our relic?"

"Do you not believe me?" said Loki.

"Yes," she said, as blunt as Mjölnir. "Hardly at all. We were not even returned the Casket when your Bifröst nearly tore us apart."

"That is because Asgard did not possess it," said Loki. "I did."

She raised an eyebrow. "You? Begging your pardon, young prince, but the Casket is not meant to be handled by a simple AEsir. The All-Father, perhaps, but even his powers must surpass yours."

"You yourself said I was a wielder of seidr," said Loki. "If you could so easily sense it while it is unused, imagine its prowess when I had taken the Casket at my potential."

The queen licked her lips, searching Loki's face for a mite of explanation—of honesty.

"They were not incorrect when they said you were the one who unleashed the Bifröst on Jotunheim years ago," said the queen. "Many died that day. Many innocents died that day. And yet here you are, offering to return the very artifact that could easily undo all your hard work and protection of both Midgard and Asgard, appearing defenseless and humble, and I cannot find a single lie in you."

"You have much faith in your abilities to detect the truth," said Loki.

"It will sometimes fail me," said the queen, "but not today. I cannot afford to lose faith."

She held out a hand to him. "Come with me."

"And where will that lead me?" said Loki.

"Where you promised," she said.

The cryptic mood of her words did not go unnoticed, but Loki took her hand anyway. He felt the air shift around him, as if the floor under his feet jerked him from the spot and yet he did not move. The lights darkened around him and he found himself very cold and empty, as if borne in the hollow of a frozen tree. He recognized the teleportation spell the moment his head spun and he stumbled back, his hand falling from the queen's as she brought them to the new location. His boots caught on snow and he nearly fell, but not before she caught him by the forearm.

"Little legs really are the clumsy ones," she said.

Her hand was cold against his skin, even through the leather he wore.

"Where is this?" he said.

"The Ice Temple," said the queen. "The true home of the Casket."

It made sense, once Loki's eyes adjusted to the dark. The lonely podium that was perfectly sized for the Casket, here in the head of the room. His boots crunched the snow as he approached it slowly. The room was small, but with a tall roof that emitted a tired blue light. The walls were intricately carved with stories Loki never grew up listening to, and he could have sworn that in the corners of the room he heard the echoes of hymns he never fell asleep to.

And he knew—the last time he was here, he was a little baby, dying, wailing for mercy, abandoned until Odin walked through the entryway.

Was it this corner that he was tossed into, the one with a healthy pile of snow waiting to be nestled in? Was it behind the pillar, with barely enough space to squeeze a hand between? Did he, as a baby, even know he was abandoned within the stone, like the Chitauri baby he had killed, and spent what he thought was his last breath crying?

"What is on your mind?" said the queen.

Loki shook his head, his lips shivering.

"Questions, and nothing more," said Loki.

He raised his hands to the podium, his breath hitching. He realized, as his blood ran cold, that the moment he brought forth the Casket he would regain his Jotun form. What would commence then? Would it make a difference—for better, for worse? Would she think him a better ally or perhaps a traitor?

But this was beyond him now—of greater importance and purpose than what race he was or was not. It did not make a difference to Jotunheim if he was a Frost Giant or even a dwarf—they needed the Casket, and he could give it to them. And in the end, that was truly all the difference it made.

He took in a deep breath and called forth the Casket from the inner folds of the space between existence and magic. A cold rush enveloped him as the incandescent blue casket materialized between his hands, blue hues creeping from his fingertips to his wrist, following the trails of his veins up his arm and to the rest of his body. His fingers tightened around the slowly forming handle until the Casket completely solidified into existence, flurries spinning around its presence.

It settled into the podium and the effect was immediate. The power of Jotunheim bonded with its long-lost companion of the Casket and the Casket burst with light. Rivers of glowing blue that reminded Loki of the waters on Midgard streamed down the podium, snaking across the ground and lighting up the entire room. The icy powers criss-crossed along the floor as Loki's own magic fueled its revival, forming spider webs of life. He could hear the rush of magic like a whirlwind in his ears and his own arms shake as the Casket roared with power. This was the true power of Jotunheim—what Asgard had locked in a vault for centuries on end. This was its true purpose.

And as he was bonded to the Casket, he could feel how it healed Jotunheim. He felt the earth knit together, he felt the fauna flourish. He could see the buildings piece themselves together, more resilient than ever. The wind softened and the storms ceased and Jotunheim did more than survive—it lived.

He thought he could hear the earth singing to him—singing the tales he never knew. His senses became all in one—he did not see or hear or feel, but he _was _Jotunheim for a moment. He was what mended the cracks, what pumped the strength into the people's limbs and heart. He was what made the ice shimmer.

For a moment, he nearly forgot his name—that he was anything or anyone except for Jotunheim's Casket.

He didn't realize how the breath left his lungs for too long until his sight blurred, or how his grip on the Casket slackened, until he nearly fell back. The bond with Jotunheim broke immediately when he fell away, the Casket dimming to a peaceful hum. He stumbled into his senses, breathing heavily as his heart echoed in his ears. His knees shook underneath him but he refused to crumple. He will not fall. He will not fall.

There was silence, interrupted only as he caught his breath. He almost forgot the presence of the queen until her clear voice shattered his thoughts.

"Well," she said. "I suppose that explains why you could bear the Casket."

Loki said nothing. His breathing slowed to normal as his health and AEsir appearance returned slowly to him. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and let his gaze fall to the queen. She watched him, her lips pressed in a firm line, but her eyes shone with something undecipherable.

"Loki, son of Odin," she said. "Who are you, really?"

"I've told you the truth," he said. He flashed her a quick smile. "Else you would have noted the untruth in my words, would you not?"

She reached out and gingerly cupped his jawline. Her hand was cool and calloused and even without looking down he knew that his Jotun form was taking its place at her touch. She pulled away immediately, as if his skin burned her icy self.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice shook slightly. "For the Casket. For returning –it—to us."

"Do not thank me," said Loki. "It was meant for this Realm, after all."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Where had all her silver words gone? Where had her composure fled between the unleashing of the Casket and now?

"You look unwell," said the queen. "Seidr indeed thrives in you, but it is fading, even if you claim it is not." She exhaled softly. "You are fading."

Loki closed his eyes.

"You are small," she said. "Small for a Frost Giant as well."

"There is a reason why I was raised in Asgard and not here," said Loki.

The queen's lips thinned but she did not press further. He said nothing more—he found that he could not. She reached out, as if she wanted to brush stray strands of black hair from his face, but she hesitated and withdrew her hand.

"Will Jotunheim be stronger now?" said Loki.

"More than ever before," said the queen. "For their hope has returned, and I will lead them."

He nodded, unexpected relief flooding his mind.

"I should return to Asgard," said Loki. "My family expects me back soon."

"Your family," she said. "The All-Father's family."

"My home," said Loki.

He thought he saw sadness in her eyes, but he could not tell so easily. Red eyes were harder to read.

"Let me escort you back, child," said the queen.

"I am not ill," he said. "Nor am I a child."

She gave a wry smile. "Even so, I would see you off. I can't have a foreigner wandering around unchecked for in my land, can I?"

He silently relented and let her lead him out of the Temple. The sight that welcomed him outside was stunning—nearly unbelievable. The ruins were rebuilt to their full glory, the sun shining more boldly through the snowy clouds. The ice gleamed with new spirit and Loki could almost feel the power of the Casket still thrumming within the small crevices everywhere around him.

But what was more astounding was the crowd of Frost Giants that stood around him. Young and old, men and women, noble and commoner—they surrounded the Ice Temple with stunned silence, and Loki noted that even their health looked fuller with the Casket in place. When their sanguine eyes fell on him, he noted how very small he truly was compared to them.

"The Casket has been returned to us," the queen said, her voice carrying over leagues and rivers. "Jotunheim is restored."

There was at first impenetrable silence—of disbelief, of shock—before a roar. Not a roar of victory or viciousness, but of joy, perhaps even celebration. Of thankfulness. Of the patience of waiting for a thousand years and finally the Norns had answered. Of rebirth.

And Loki felt so overwhelmed that he felt incredibly lightheaded. Here were the Jotuns that were supposed to hate him, supposed to never forgive him for the heinous crime he committed against them, and yet they were celebrating what he had done for them. They did not strike at him, spit at him, show any anger or hatred toward him. These were—in some indescribable sense—his people, and they rejoiced in him.

He did not know how long they had stood amongst the crowd in the Frost Giants' returned hope. He did not really know when he had fallen with fatigue and the queen had to hold his arm to keep him upright, or when eventually he was given a pure white steed to escort him to the Bifröst site. Everything was a blur, out of shock and weakness and relief. Mostly—relief. But the next thing he knew, he was upon a hobbling steed alongside the queen, her hand steady on him as they drew away from the city and the castle to the lone crag, and he realized that truly—this was how it felt to be fading.

No, not fading. Burning out bright.

He slid off the steed and back onto his unsteady legs. He no longer cared how weak he appeared, because inside—in his mind and heart—he felt rejuvenated. He felt strong. And strangely, repaired.

"I thank you," said Loki. "For the steed. And for accepting me into your audience."

"You really are a fool," said the queen. "It is I who thank you."

"I suppose we can have a trade-off, then," Loki said with a crooked smile.

She returned a genuine smile to him. "May I ask you something, child?"

"Yes," said Loki.

She watched him carefully, eyes shining like rubies.

"Are you happy, with the life you have?" she said. "Are you loved?"

Loki was silent at first. All of a sudden, he remembered the feeling of blood on his hand. He remembered the coldness of an abandoned star and how he let the breath fade from his lungs as the world ended before him. The pain, the humiliation, the torture that rattled his bones.

Of _No, Loki._

Of _you will wish for something as sweet as pain._

For the mercies that were never shown to him, the heartbreak that riddled his heart with scars. For every tear he shed and second of loneliness that hurt more than any knife.

The guilt on his hand and the lives tallying in his ledger.

Of Thor, holding him tight, crying for him.

Of Natasha who kissed away his tears.

Odin who forgave Loki the moment he saw him.

Frigga who cradled him from birth. Tony, who refused to leave his side. Bruce who healed him from the beginning, despite the slander Loki had wrought upon him long before. Steve wiping the blood from his arm. Clint who finally gave him a smile.

He thought of all his life, the long trek that took him everywhere, from pain to peace, hate to love, and oh, how difficult it was to reach this point.

"Yes," said Loki, and he meant it. He meant it. "I am. I do."

She smiled, and he could have sworn that shine welled up in her eyes. She bowed her head and he his before she hooked her hand around the reins of her steed, leading it away from the crag to let Loki depart.

"May we both win this war, little one," said the queen. When she smiled, she looked as if she already won peace. "May we both live."

"Wait," said Loki.

She stopped and turned around to face him.

"What is the queen's name?" he said. "That I may remember her?"

She hesitated, a breath escaping her lips, before finally acquiescing.

"Fárbauti," she said. "My name is Fárbauti."

"Queen Fárbauti," he repeated, and her name was easy on his tongue. "Until we meet again."

She closed her eyes and turned away from him, for what they both knew to be the last time, before leaving him. Loki craned his neck to face the sky, and the sunlight nearly blinded him.

"Heimdall, bring me home," he said.

Snowflakes caught on his eyelashes, and he was gone.


	38. Chapter 38

**Not only are we buckling down for a war, but I am buckling down for finals! Finals studying week, here I come...**

**Also, to clear up some concerns I did not realize existed, Death with whom Thanos is in love is NOT Hela. In fact, Hela does not exist in this story. As I had mentioned in the second chapter of the story, this story's foundations are built on Marvel movieverse with whatever comic and mythological details of my choosing. Loki does NOT have children or wives in this story.**

**It's just occurring to me now just how dang long this story is. **

* * *

"I will not drink that monstrosity."

Thor was not usually one to lose his temper with Loki. With Odin, yes. With the Warriors Three or Sif, very rarely. But with Loki? A rough word was expected when Loki's sauciness went a step too far, but even then Thor would sooner tease back than let his anger show. But Loki could see the twitch in Thor's eyebrow and the growing roughness in his voice as his ire surged.

Frankly, Loki found it amusing.

"When will you stop acting like a child?" said Thor.

"It's a potion. I hate potions," said Loki.

"And I hated mushrooms, but that didn't stop you from sneaking them into my birthday feast once when we were young, did it?"

Loki's lips twisted into a smile. "It was just a bit of fun, you know that. But this is a different matter."

Thor held the vial higher until it was eye-level to Loki. The contents swished ominously in the clear bottle, seemingly innocent with a slight orange hue but leaving condensation in its tracks against the glass.

"Eir says this will restore your strength and rejuvenate your body," said Thor. "Even if your body is in a weakened state, this potion will aid it."

"I am not breaking down, for goodness' sake," said Loki. The armies were preparing themselves last minute for the looming battle, with only a night at most to prepare, and here the two of them were bickering about these unnecessary means. "Thor, the others are gathering themselves for formation. We cannot tarry like this."

"We needn't tarry if only you would oblige," Thor said. "Do not lie to me and tell me that you are feeling at your strongest."

"I am at my strongest," said Loki.

"You're a talented liar, Loki, but you are not flawless," said Thor. "You nearly collapsed when you returned from Jotunheim."

"But I did not," said Loki. "Allow me my mistakes, Thor. I do not make them again."

"That wasn't a mistake, and this is not a mistake," said Thor. "Please, Loki, save your strength and take this."

Loki pulled on his gloves, struggling to fit it over the one hand encased in metal. "They are only a temporary buzz for a much more complicated problem," he said. "They do not fix the problem, only mask the symptoms. They would be pointless."

"You would know, as you only took a potion at most once in your life."

"It was horrible and the stomach flu barely improved. I will not repeat that mistake."

Thor let out an exasperated huff and uncorked the bottle. Loki held up a hand defensively.

"You will not force-feed me anything," said Loki. "Don't you _dare_."

"Then listen to me, for once," said Thor.

"After all those years of you not listening to me?" said Loki.

Thor gritted his teeth. Loki shook his head irately, sliding his sword into the scabbard at his side. He did not want to deal with the helmet or the cloak in this battle—there was too much at stake to try to look good dying.

"Where do you think you're going?" said Thor.

Loki rolled his eyes. "I was thinking of attending a wedding. Thor, there's a war tomorrow."

"You will not fight in it," said Thor.

Loki paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing, before scoffing. "Very endearing, Thor. Now, if you have nothing else to say, we really ought to be going, as they are ushering our civilians to refuges right now and we should be there for them."

He reached out to pull open the door before he was suddenly pulled back. Thor wrenched him away from leaving, his face set in unyielding and intimidating stone. Loki tried to rip his arm away, but Thor's grip was unrelenting.

"You will not fight in this war," said Thor. "You will stay with the civilians in their refuges underground, and you shall not participate in the battle."

This had to be a cruel jest, to pay back for all the awful lies Loki told Thor in the years past. There could be no possible way that Thor was serious about this. But when Loki waited and waited for Thor to crack under the pressure of the truth as he always did and let go, there was nothing but Thor's stony determination.

"You," said Loki, "cannot be serious. No—"

"Loki—" Thor said as Loki pulled away from him.

"Do _not _think that you can force me to sit out of this war, Thor," Loki said, his voice raising. "I will not sit aside and wait around like a coward when I should be out there with our warriors defending the Realms."

"Listen to me, Loki," said Thor. Loki dodged Thor's reach immediately.

"Are you barking mad?" said Loki. "A prince of Asgard does not hide in the rocks and shadows until danger passes. I am a warrior, regardless of what the culture says about knives and magic. I can defend our home and I shall."

"Thanos will target you, Loki," said Thor. "You have the Mind Gem within you and if Thanos attacks Asgard in attempt to claim the Infinity Gauntlet, he will want all of the components to come with it. And the Mind Gem is one of them. He will take you, Loki! He will take you and kill you for the Mind Gem, and then he will have the absolute power that the Gauntlet promises."

"Do you think several meters of stone under the ground will stop him?" said Loki. "He will not be fooled if he does not see me in combat. He will tear out every man, woman, and child that stands between him and me and hiding away with the civilians will solve nothing."

"Loki, do not be a fool," said Thor. "The Mind Gem proves dangerous to you, and to all around you. We know what Thanos can do to manipulate what is inside of you—if he does so in the middle of battle—"

"Then those around me will be in danger regardless of where I am or where I hide," said Loki. "If you think I will make a decision that will put Asgard or anyone in danger—"

"I know you will not! I know that your will is strong," said Thor. "But Loki—Loki, you are weakened, and you cannot deny that. You said so yourself, that you are fading. If you are in battle—if you fight until all your strength is spent—"

"Oh," said Loki, and his voice grew icy. "You do not seek to protect Asgard. You seek to protect _me_."

"You make it sound like a crime," said Thor.

"You will be _king, _Thor," said Loki. "And a king ought to look out for the safety of his kingdom than the second son."

"Do not speak as if you mean nothing," said Thor. "I do seek the protection of Asgard, but _you too _are a part of Asgard."

"And the potion—is that what is going on as well?" said Loki. "You think these small acts will borrow more time for me? I am already on long due time, and I do _not need your sympathies."_

"Sympathy?" said Thor. "Sympathy? You think this mere flit of pity? Loki, I care about you, I want you safe and well—why will you not understand?"

"Your potion—these attempts—are nothing," said Loki. "Do you understand the Mind Gem, Thor? Only a force of nearly indestructible power can maybe scratch it, and perhaps then I will walk free. You may smash your hammer against my chest all you want and perhaps that will end it, but obviously I will not come out unscathed. Do you think it will be outsmarted by mere manmade sorcery?"

"Who will let you fight?" said Thor. "No—even the Avengers will not let you enter battle. Mother and Father should not. You've told them what ails you, so don't you go believing that I am foolish in my desire to protect you."

Loki pressed his lips together furiously. When Thor understood Loki's silence, his eyes became icy cold in a way that Loki could not recognize.

"You did not tell anyone else, did you?" said Thor. "That you are dying?"

"The timing isn't exactly right," said Loki.

"Then I will tell Father and Mother myself, and they will reason with you," said Thor.

"No!" Loki immediately placed himself between Thor and the door. "Do not breathe a word of this to our parents. To anyone."

"And yet I know," said Thor.

"I know you know, and I regret telling you," Loki said. Thor flinched as if Loki's words were barbs against his skin.

"You do not mean that," said Thor, his voice thin. "You trust me—don't you? You trust me, enough to tell me the truth. Enough to talk to me."

"But that you would go through all this worry and false hope just for the petty chance that my end will not come—or that you can delay it as far as you wish," said Loki. "Is this not torture to yourself?"

"You do not know if it is out of vain," Thor said, a faint tremor running down his words. "You yourself are not certain—no one has ever said that there was no hope—"

"For goodness' sake, Thor," Loki said. "For goodness' sake—why can you not just let it be and get it over with? You've lost me plenty times before, you ought to be used to it by now."

It wasn't until Loki truly looked upon Thor's face did he realize how cruel his words were. Thor looked as if Loki had stabbed him with a venomous knife after a sweet gesture, and Loki immediately despised himself and his wretched, impulsive tongue.

"I should not have said that," said Loki. "Thor—"

"I don't understand," Thor said. His voice was fragile. "Why? Why do you think that I can deal with the pain of losing you so flippantly? Why do you think your death ought to mean nothing to me?"

"I don't mean it," Loki said. "I don't—I don't know."

"Nothing will ever soften the blow," said Thor. "I know that. Even if what I can try and prevent will do nothing more but stretch time, it will never be enough. I know. I know. But I cannot just do _nothing—_try nothing—when we are not sure. When there could be hope. Loki, please—I can't let you _die. _I want to protect you but now in the moment that threatens you the most I _can't_."

"Thor—" But Loki did not know what to say. Why did his lying, goading, tempting silver tongue fail him now? Such was the effect of too much honesty, that even the simplest lies were clumsy.

"I will not let Thanos of all creatures claim my life so soon," said Loki. "I have more pride than that, brother."

Thor said nothing. He only reached out and placed both hands on Loki's shoulders. Loki could tell by the way Thor's fingers gripped him tightly that he could feel that daunting slenderness underneath the skin.

"Do not leave my side," said Thor. "And I will make sure of that."

Loki snorted, a smile playing on his lips.

"I will fight in this battle, Thor," said Loki. "And for once—let me protect you."

"Your magic will be a blessing," said Thor. "If swords will stand nothing against the Infinity Gems that Thanos stole, then—"

He paused, his eyes sharpening immediately. Loki blinked, waving a hand in front of Thor's face to catch his attention again.

"You think you have an epiphany," said Loki.

"We stand as much of a chance of taking back what is ours as defeating Thanos," Thor said, his voice low with feverish anticipation. "In fact, if Thanos bides his time—if he prefers to humiliate us than destroy us—"

"Must you talk aloud when you think?" said Loki. "You might as well tell me what exactly you are thinking."

"Thanos has the Reality Gem, does he not?" said Thor. "That was how he used the Mind Gem as a gateway for his senses to spy on the mortals. He must have it with him now, even if he does not possess the entire Infinity set."

"Father said that the Gauntlet itself remains, along with Soul and Power," said Loki. "Though I don't—"

"Don't you see?" said Thor. "The Mind Gem was never meant to be used as a spy, and yet Thanos made it so with the Reality Gem. It bent the laws of what should and what could. That is how we can save you."

Loki blinked once, twice, before—"_What_?"

"Oh, bless the Norns," said Thor. "I may have figured something out before you."

"Yes, yes, good job for you," Loki said. "Now explain to me what you mean."

"We use the Reality Gem to save you," said Thor. "If it can do anything the possessor wishes, then it is possible. No—it is a must. It fulfills all wishes even if they are seemingly impossible. _This _is it Loki. This is what we can do to save you."

Loki felt his heart skip a beat. Was this elation in his heart, powdered with realistic pessimism? His hope inflating but with caution? Thor made sense—he made complete sense—but something held him back from grasping at the chance.

"You do realize that Thanos currently has the Reality Gem," said Loki, suppressing the fervent shudder of his voice. If Thor was anything, he was overly optimistic—and it was sometimes contagious. "He will not let us borrow it for the sake of my life."

"We are preparing ourselves for a war that will seek to end him, brother," said Thor. "I think him being robbed will not be so very different of a goal."

"It—" Loki hesitated, wondering if it was wise to utter these coming words. "It is possible. Yes…yes, it could work—but Thor, you mustn't get your hopes high. Thanos is powerful, Thanos is clever—we already stand a slim chance defeating him. To also take a Gem from him which he hoards so hungrily is no easier."

"Do you doubt me, Loki?" said Thor, and Loki could only marvel at how quickly Thor's mood could snap at the scent of a possible solution. "That I will do anything in my power to save you?"

"I do not doubt your heart," Loki said, and he gripped Thor's wrist, as if that was enough to protect him. "Only how far you would put yourself through for me." Loki swallowed hard. "You always were a bit too self-sacrificial for my taste."

Thor quieted, and his smile softened into something sad and thoughtful.

"I will do it again and again if I must," said Thor. "But that would mean losing my time with you. Do not worry of that, Loki. We will protect each other, and shall lose nothing."

* * *

The fields of Asgard were quiet.

Only torches that several soldiers held up every couple of meters lit the night. Behind them, the city lay bare and silent. There was no window cracked open to let out the cat, no smoke trailing out of a chimney. All the civilians and their provisions were ushered into safety within the mountains miles away. All who were left to face Thanos were the warriors with their weapons and hearts, the latter beating with anticipation that served better than any war drum.

All they could do was wait.

Sif counted her knives over and over again. Loki had promised that she needn't worry if she lost them—that he had charmed them to be unfailing—but that was what he had promised when he fashioned for her a pair of boots that forced her to tap dance in the middle of the training grounds during a spar. Surely Loki would not play a joke when everyone else's lives were at stake, when he had charmed all the warriors' weapons. Not that anything had proved to her that this was the case.

She cracked her knuckles, pacing along the gritty soil. She hated this waiting, the way it itched in her every pore and spoke with invisible tongues in her ear. To try to keep her nerves before a battle was like trying to fall asleep after hours of insomnia—no matter what, the mind will not clear, there was always an inch of skin to scratch, and the act of breathing became too deliberate.

She saw Fandral a little ways off and quickened her steps to catch up with him. The usual charming smile was absent from his face, replaced instead with that of grim anticipation. It was not becoming of him, and the fact that he did not enter this battle with a crystal laugh made Sif realize just how dire the situation was.

"How was the perimeter check?" she said.

"Nothing stirs," said Fandral. "Hogun has replaced me. One would think that Thanos would strike now, when the sun has set and he is at his prime, but I think he likes to play with our daunting wait."

"As he would," Sif said with growl. "To think he would dare to step into Asgard again. Twice already, and after his exile too."

"Frankly," said Fandral, "we gave him little reason to fear us the last time he came around."

Sif bit her tongue. She had been present in the hall when Loki was tossed to the ground as a bartering chip, only to be refused. She could not place a word on the emotions that raged within her at the site of the traitor turned captive tortured by a despicable enemy. Loki had been a prisoner at the time—a murderer, a madman, a downright horrible person—but at the sight of him bleeding and half-alive by Thanos' hand she remembered that he was the young boy who tagged along with her and Thor in their youth, that helped sneak her into Thor's training sessions, who wouldn't stop grinning for a week when he realized he had grown taller than her.

"Then he has plenty of time to learn," said Sif, tightening her grip on her sword. She nodded to his weapon. "Loki dabbed with yours as well, I presume?"

"With my armor," said Fandral. "He means to strengthen its fortitude."

"And does it?" said Sif.

Fandral chuckled wryly. "His magic hardly ever failed him before. I will trust that it will not now, though if it doesn't then I suppose I won't have the chance to accuse him anyway."

"He and Thor have changed greatly," said Sif, watching the dark sky. No stars shone. "I fear not recognizing them."

"There must be something in Midgard's water," Fandral said lightly.

"Chlorine and the dash of salt, but that's not too bad."

Sif and Fandral turned around at the interruption. Clint was standing behind them, shouldering a black, heavy bow and bearing no armor. In the sea of Asgardian warriors clad in metal, he stuck out sorely.

Clint nodded to Fandral. "Thor wants to talk to you and some guy named Volstagg. He's at the main gates of his castle."

"Volstagg is probably making his rounds about the citadel grounds," said Fandral. "I will fetch him myself. Thank you."

"No problemo," said Clint. Fandral gave a nod of farewell to Sif before making his way to the city gates. Sif was about to turn around and return to her usual post in the third line of defense when Clint's voice called out to her.

"What's your name again?" he said.

Sif stopped in her steps and turned back to him. "My name is Sif."

"Ah, right," said Clint. "Memory relapse. So do you go by Lady Sif like a lot of other women here do or…?"

"Many insist that they do, but I do not mind either way," she said. She nodded to his bow. "And you're the archer. Bartonson, are you not?"

"Just Barton. We don't do those 'son of whatever whatever' on Earth anymore," said Clint. He ran his hand down the length of his bow. "I like being called 'Clint' better, anyway."

"Even if I am not a close friend?" said Sif.

"Yeah, doesn't matter to me," said Clint.

"Where are you positioned?" she said. "I think the other archers are on higher grounds, not here."

"I got bored," said Clint. "I don't really go into formation, anyway."

"You break all the rules of battle, it seems," said Sif. "No armor, no quiver, nothing."

"Oh, none of us have quivers on our bodies," said Clint. "The archers, I mean. Loki played around with them that they automatically shoot arrows themselves. Or something like that. Anyway, it works, and if all goes wrong we have a stash up on our supposed posts."

Sif raised a dark eyebrow. "Is that what he did with all our weapons? And they truly work?"

"For the several times I used it, yeah," said Clint with a shrug. "And armor's not really my style. I'm more of a dodger."

"In Asgard, we take the blow or parry it to the best of our abilities," said Sif.

"Seems kind of like a silly thing to do if all you really needed was to take a step to the side," said Clint.

Sif huffed. "You mortals fight, but we do battle here."

"You Asgardian types can be pretty competitive, huh?" said Clint with a humored snort.

"If our honor is questioned, yes," said Sif.

"Not impugning any honor here," said Clint. He shrugged good-naturedly. "Just your common sense."

"And how many battles have you lived through?" said Sif.

"Probably nowhere near as many as you," said Clint. "Being mortal and everything. But I've made it this far and I say that's a job well done, considering we probably die a lot more easily than you and I'm still kicking."

"Yes," said Sif. "Mortals are rather fragile and fast-paced. It's a wonder how they get anything done."

"It's a wonder how you guys get anything done," said Clint. "Considering you guys have all the time in the world to just keep procrastinating 'cause you're immortal. I mean, we have airplanes and machine guns and technology that could probably pummel you guys to the dust. You guys still function like a Renaissance fair and we got out of that stage centuries ago."

"We have no need for your so-called improved technology," Sif said. "Why would we want to be anything similar to those vicious Chitauri or Kree and their metal weapons of destruction?"

"Those alien things aren't destructive because they have a gun in their hand," said Clint. "They're destructive because they pull the trigger. Unless you think _you'll _automatically become some crazy, violent alien machine the moment you hold one in your hand."

Sif narrowed her eyes. Clint sighed and pulled out a strange dark object from the holster at his belt. He tossed it up and down casually in his left hand.

"See this?" said Clint.

"What is that?" said Sif.

"A gun."

Sif stiffened at the sight of it. Now that she knew what it was, it all of a sudden became all the more vile, dangerous, and barbaric. But when she looked up into Clint's face, he had the look of casual calmness with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Am I any closer to a Chitauri?" he said as he pocketed the gun.

"It doesn't make it any less of a horrid weapon," said Sif.

"It's like any archer's bow and arrow, except faster," said Clint. "I don't see you hating on those. Though," he said with an afterthought, "maybe they aren't any better either."

Sif crossed her arms. "What makes you say that?"

"Because either way they kill people," said Clint. "And that's not really a good thing."

Sif pursed her lips and looked out to the emptied town. "Not a good thing at all."

They were silent together for a moment, before she spoke again.

"Where are the rest of your companions?" she said.

"Tony and Cap are near the front of the line," said Clint. "Nat's patrolling the corners, in case some spy tries to sneak in before the rest of them. Bruce is going to help out with the medics until the Other Guy can't help himself. Thor and Loki were fighting and then making up last time I checked. And then there's me."

"Thor and Loki?" said Sif.

Clint shifted his weight from one foot to the other guiltily, like a child caught sneaking a bite of a forbidden sugar loaf. "Yeah…well, for a half deaf person like me, I seem to be able to catch a lot."

"They were fighting?" said Sif. She shouldn't expect anything less from brothers, especially a pair as stubborn as the Odinsons.

"I swear I didn't just stand there and listen," said Clint. "It's just that I was walking down the corridor because I forgot my gloves and I heard their raised voices and I was like, 'Oh shit not again' so I—"

"You don't have to be embarrassed about that," Sif said with a wry smile. "When those two fight, everyone within the castle can hear. It's a rare occurrence, granted, but not a secret one when it actually happens."

"Oh," said Clint with a relieved sigh. "Okay. I wasn't sure if in Asgard it would be some great insult to accidentally eavesdrop or something. I mean, no offense, but you Viking types get insulted really easily."

"Hmph," said Sif, turning away coldly.

"Wait—what?" said Clint. "No, no, no, I meant it when I said 'no offense.' I didn't mean to slur you or anything at all, I swear!"

Sif couldn't hold back her laughter and she shook her head, her grin wide and bright.

"I only jest," she said. "But it is true. Flyting is a common activity, and many a case in the All-Father's courts have something to do with verbal blows."

"Crazy," said Clint. "And I thought the States and their insane obsession with political correctness was outrageous."

"It is a quality of culture, that I cannot deny," said Sif. "Difficult to grow out of it after several millennia, though." She studied Clint in the amber haze of the torches. "Thor had told me of you before, you know."

"What?" said Clint. "When?"

"When he first returned from Midgard after Loki tried to invade it," said Sif.

"Really?" said Clint. "I didn't even know Thor knew my name at the time. Well, I guess we all had a chat over shawarma later, but I wasn't particularly close to him yet."

"I know," said Sif. "He told me how Loki had possessed you."

"Oh," said Clint. "Right."

Sif searched his face for any disgruntled line or shadow of resentment. To her surprise, there were none; only the weariness of a long memory.

"It wasn't really possession," Clint said. "Just a—a switch."

"A switch?" said Sif.

"I don't know what's going on with that crazy scepter Loki had," said Clint. "It—I mean, my mind felt undone afterward, when I snapped out of it. It felt like it was pieced together differently, and then forced back. But it wasn't possession because I know I was doing exactly what I would have done if I was still working with SHIELD instead of against them. I would have shot at my enemy, I would have tried to protect my boss. I would have tried killing—tried killing Nat if she wasn't my friend. That was all my decision, not Loki feeding me orders and me blindly following them with an empty mind."

He sighed heavily. "I guess to others it doesn't make a difference, but it does to me. I'm not as guiltless as they tell me I am. I'm not. It doesn't matter whose side I'm on. I kill a lot of people. And that…well, that sucks."

Sif lowered her head. It was true; Thor had told her how Clint had been mindless—thoughtless—during his possession and that Loki had controlled him. But who knew better than the one who was the victim—or the criminal? He who would have every right and understanding to deny responsibility claimed it instead.

"I had wondered why you did not seem to hate Loki when you all first arrived," said Sif. "If you don't mind me saying, you seem to be angrier at yourself."

"I am," said Clint. "It's been three years and I should get over it, but I'm not. For the past while I kept requesting jobs from SHIELD that didn't put me out in the field because I couldn't handle it anymore. I didn't like the risk that I would have to kill someone again. I mean," he gave a dark chuckle. "I do it when I have to, and I definitely did not have a clean slate these past several years. And apparently I have no qualms killing aliens, which is sort of hypocritical of me. I don't know how to handle myself."

He shook his head, an ironic smile on his lips. "Thanks for making you play Doctor Phil on me. It's just…I don't know. I'm afraid to talk about it, and sort of ashamed too, and I guess when faced with imminent doom I just had to let it out somewhere."

Sif did not know why humans would ever want to play this 'dokterfil' game if it caused so much pain. She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm just not in a very good headspace right now, I guess," said Clint.

"There is nothing wrong about it," said Sif. "Until it consumes you."

"I try not to let it," said Clint. "It's just the whole situation. We're about to go to war with a crazy guy, my best friend's in love with my ex-enemy, and I just really wish I could lie down and let this all pass without me even noticing it."

"Best friend in love with your enemy?" said Sif.

Clint must not have realized he said that because the look on his face was a mixture of horror and embarrassment.

"I…yeah," said Clint. "I shouldn't spread rumors or anything, but it's not a rumor if it's true, right?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Man, I feel like a teenage girl. Or a drunkard, because I can't keep my mouth shut right now with you. Really sorry."

"Don't be," said Sif. "I like it when people speak with me. It means they are comfortable with me, to some extent." She had few friends among the ladies in the court, and the Warriors Three, while they trusted her with their lives, didn't necessarily think of trusting her with their secrets or thoughts. She was a true companion, but for the sake of happiness and contentment and not comfort. To have this Clint speak to her as if she was more than just another passing friendly colleague made her feel _noticed._

"So yeah," said Clint. "Nat's my closest friend and she's in love with—with Loki. Don't tell anyone. But it's true. And I was in love with her for the longest time. I know that it wouldn't work out long before I realized she liked Loki, and I thought I accepted that already and moved on. But just realizing that she cares for someone else and that person isn't me—I mean, I know I should move on and be happy for her and be all right, but for some reason I'm still…not happy. I might even be jealous, even though if I am honest with myself, I know that things just wouldn't truly work out with the both of us. But it's painful."

"I wish I could depart with you a word of comfort," Sif said, her voice soft. "But I think I'm in the same predicament myself, and have no wisdom."

Clint gazed at her curiously and she gave him a dry smile.

"I've been in love with a man for a good deal of time," she said, "only for him to fall for another. And as much as I would like to be happy for him, I can only wish I was the one making him happy. So I suppose the both of us aren't in a friendly predicament."

"Who?" said Clint.

Sif's eyes flashed. "Now, I've only just met you. Why should I tell you?"

"Because we're all about to go into war and who knows what'll happen next?" said Clint. "Might as well say, 'to hell with it' and let everything fall off your shoulders."

Sif snorted. "Perhaps this is why you mortals are more honest. You've little time to lie."

"Damn straight," said Clint.

Sif exhaled deeply, fixing her eyes on a dying torch.

"It was Thor," she said.

"Ouch," he said. "For how long did you like him?"

"Probably ten times your age," said Sif. "Which makes the ironic blow even sourer. He'll love a mortal in a mere fraction of that time, and she'll live a life no longer than that. And it isn't like I can meet new people often to—for a lack of better words—broaden my horizon, when everyone lives so long that I've met them all already."

"Of all the guys in the world," said Clint.

"Of all the ladies in your world," she retorted.

Clint chuckled in spite of himself. "Aren't we a lucky bunch?"

"Aren't we," Sif said with an ironic smile. "It feels like everyone around me somehow fall in love with one another, and yet I'm here apparently doing something wrong."

"You can't get mutual attraction right. Unless there's some mathematical formula, it's pretty much a hit or miss," said Clint.

"Hit or miss," said Sif. "Like an impossible archery match. One person has to shoot one arrow and another as well, and somehow the points are aimed perfectly at each other and perfectly meet, even if one small twitch could send the arrow flying who knows where and miss its mark completely."

"The sad thing is I'm pretty sure I can hit another arrow head-on more easily," said Clint. His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Hey. Don't beat yourself up over this. So one guy didn't have those feelings for you. Doesn't mean everyone won't ever have feelings for you. And you've got all the time in the world to find him."

"I don't like to think I'm so concerned about it," said Sif. "It's like I'm some sniveling maiden who has nothing else to think about except for true love or something just as fantastical."

"So what?" said Clint. "Everyone does it. It's a pain in the ass, sometimes, but if nearly everyone in existence wants it some way or another, it must be worth it. Besides," he snorted, "when given the choice to worry about nonexistent relationships or a coming war, I guess the two aren't so different."

Sif couldn't help but laugh. "You strangely wise in your short years."

"How old are you?" said Clint.

"Perhaps two millennia, or close to it," said Sif. "We hardly count ages here in Asgard."

Clint gave a low whistle. "Looking good."

Sif wasn't sure whether to be amused or perplexed. She shook her head, a smile uncontainable on her lips.

"Sif."

She spun around at the sound of her name, finding herself face-to-face with Loki. She nearly took a step back, wondering how was it that he so easily snuck up behind her. Clint nodded in acknowledgement at him and Loki returned the gesture.

"Agent Barton," he said. "I'll have you know, Thor and Stark want to speak with all of us in about half an hour."

"Like, some Ra Ra sort of speech?" said Clint.

"No," said Loki. "That'll come earlier. Only for the Avengers."

"Right," said Clint. "I'll remember that."

Sif couldn't help but avert her gaze anywhere but toward Loki; in all retrospect, they had just been talking about him behind his back, though for once not cruelly.

"Also," said Loki. "The other archers on our post would like to speak to you. Our head of the guard will be responsible for your division, but he may use terms that you are unfamiliar to."

"Oh, okay," said Clint, shouldering his bow. "Uh, where will Thor want to talk to us and everything?"

"Thor will make a statement to all the warriors before sunrise," said Loki. "He'll probably be at the highest point of the city, which is to say the tower at the citadel. So, most likely right afterward."

"Citadel tower. Got it," said Clint. "I'll see you then." Without another word he darted off toward where the other archers situated themselves along the walls, leaving Sif and Loki at his wake. Sif looked over Loki; he wore simpler armor than royalty usually bore, not unlike the one he last wore to Jotunheim years back, and he seemed to have foregone the helmet completely. She saw how pale he was and she clucked her tongue.

"Not even your favorite cloak?" said Sif. "You really are keeping it modest."

Loki rolled his eyes. "It'll be harder to run with a cloak billowing behind me."

"Not going to run away from battle, are you?" said Sif.

Loki shot her a sharp look. "I'll be doing a lot of _chasing_."

"Right," Sif said. She couldn't help but smirk. "So, if you're taking messages from Thor, I take it you two aren't fighting anymore?"

"I beg your pardon?" Loki said.

"I heard you two had a bit of a row," said Sif.

"Gossipy servants, I wonder?" said Loki, narrowing his eyes. "Though all those who do not fight or heal were ushered to safety." He shook his head. "For your information, there was nothing wrong between Thor and me. We only had a brief…disagreement."

"When do you never?" said Sif. "Of what?"

"Nosing in rather deep, aren't you?" said Loki.

"Oh, I doubt you two can surprise me," said Sif. "I've seen you two fight over everything, from what path to take through the mountains to what color silk to give your mother. There's hardly anything in between that I've yet to witness."

"Hm," said Loki, readjusting his gloves. His eyes sharpened. "He was growing too concerned of me. I shook it off."

"Too concerned?" said Sif. "Well, that's hardly a surprise."

"What?"

"That he's so overprotective of you," said Sif. "I thought you would at least be used to it by now."

"Used to it?" said Loki. "All our time growing up together he left me on my own two feet to fend off whatever beasts or shadows I faced. Then all of a sudden he thinks I'm as delicate as glass and more precious. It's ridiculous."

"Are you making a jest?" said Sif. "He always valued you greatly."

"Now, let's not continue this motif of comparing me and metal," said Loki. "He barely thought of me when we were in our adolescents and older. It wasn't until he found out I had the Tesseract that he began to worry."

Sif shot him a look of incredulity. "Are you absolutely blind?"

Loki's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "I'm sorry?"

"He is not as uncaring as you once thought he was, Loki Odinson," said Sif. "Whatever dark thoughts were in your head when you took your father's throne—"

"Being king had little to do with anything," Loki said.

"Either way," said Sif. "Whatever you thought about your family, whatever you believed that led to belittling yourself, was an awful lie. Why would you doubt Thor's love for you?"

"I don't doubt it now," said Loki. "Trust me. He's shown me more than I could even understand time and time again." He shook his head, running a hand across his pale forehead. "Only, it is a waste of mind."

"Waste of a mind," said Sif. "You would never tell him that if you knew how he mourned for you after you fell from the Bifröst."

Loki turned to her, quizzical.

"He dreamed of you. You haunted him—his memories of you haunted him," said Sif. "He would barely eat, never sleep, never found any joy in anything he once did. And once—when he was down with a fever—he saw you."

"I was nowhere near Asgard," said Loki.

"Obviously not," Sif said. "In his mind—fevered hallucinations, he saw you."

She saw the shock in Loki's eyes and could only remember the pain in her heart when Thor, red and burning with fever, would cry out for his brother only to remember once his fit passed that Loki was lost and gone, and no amount of pride or control could keep away the tears. She had been there for him, wrestling her way past the healers' guard, to hold his hand when he shivered from fever and as Loki haunted him underneath his eyelids like phantom faces, reduced to only myths.

"I remember," she said, her voice soft. "He had first seen you happy, peaceful, as if everything was all right again, and he would speak to you as if you were sitting at his bedside making your little quips as usual. And he was so—so happy. I was there. I sat in the corner, too shocked to tell him he spoke to nothing, and when he finally came to he was so heartbroken."

Loki wouldn't look at Sif, his eyes downcast as he listened. She wished he could understand—that he would have been there and witnessed how broken Thor's heart was, because in Thor's mind, he was the one at fault—he was the one who could not save his brother, could not spare that one loving word when he felt it all along, could not grab onto his wrist before the plummet.

"And later—he kept hallucinating of you, but this time, they were terrible images," said Sif. "He saw you angry, yelling at him, blaming him for your death and despair. Sometimes he saw you dying in front of him, and he would try to save you except he was weak and you weren't there. He saw you in pain and he would be driven mad with grief because he couldn't help you—and you weren't truly there. You idiot prince, don't you see why he's so protective over you? Losing you had always been his worst nightmare, and then once it actually happened—he will not lose you a second time. He will not bear to have you hurting another time."

Loki closed his eyes. Sif sighed heavily, the words poured out of her and leaving her feeling light and almost hollow. Death was always a fear to her—not her own death, but the death of her loved ones and companions. Because while life will last almost forever for an Asgardian like her, so would grief.

"I see," Loki said.

Was that all he had to say? But she knew that he would not utter any more. He always buried his thoughts so deep that they turned into stubborn, unrepentant stone.

"Thank you, Sif," said Loki. "For caring for Thor while I was...away."

"You really are an idiot prince," said Sif. She cast her eyes to the sky as it gradually paled. The new day was coming, and it brought bloodshed with it. She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, knowing too well that it would be a long, long time until she would let go of it.

"Come now," said Sif. "Shouldn't you be making some words of encouragement to our men and women with your brother?"

"He is the crown prince, not I," said Loki.

"What difference does it make?" said Sif. "If words can strike strength and determination in our warriors' hearts, does it make a difference if they come from the mouth of a king or the mouth of a beggar?"

"Are you calling me a beggar, Lady Sif?" said Loki.

Sif punched Loki in the arm. Loki laughed and brushed her off.

"I will stand by his side," said Loki. He bowed to her. "If I do not have a chance to say it again, Lady Sif—fight bravely, and be safe."

"Oh no," said Sif. "You will not get rid of me so easily."

Loki smiled, straightening.

"Then let us hope that the Norns will do the same for me as well," he said.

* * *

The dawn was cold, and Loki found himself shivering.

He was never one to shiver. He was Frost Giant, for goodness' sake. In the cold hunting nights when even Thor caved in and bundled in fur, Loki found that a heavy cloak was sufficient. But tonight—this morning—his body failed him as he trembled in the spot from the chill. He was thankful that his armor composed of mostly leather than metal so that it would not clank and clatter as he shuddered.

"The sun rises, brother," he said. The pale, sickly sun was pulling itself up over the horizon, and Loki knew inside that Thanos was not far. Heimdall had said that Thanos was only several leagues away nearly three hours ago, and that Jotunheim was already fending off the the Kree's attack, with Alfheim defending itself from the Chitauri at the same time. Asgard was next, and Asgard would suffer.

"So it does," Thor said, his voice grave.

"Where is Father?" said Loki.

"He puts himself in the front of the line with our bravest warriors to lead them," said Thor. He pulled on his winged helmet, his face drawn and determined. "It is up to us to encourage our people's hearts."

"They would not want my counsel," said Loki.

"You are Silvertongue, Loki," said Thor.

"That is never meant as a compliment," said Loki.

"You use your words so artistically," said Thor. "I know you can use them for this moment."

Loki swallowed hard. Thor nodded to the herald just below them. The herald placed a bugle at his lips and blew hard, a deep note resonating through the streets to catch Asgard's attention. All eyes that could see turned toward their crown prince above them, in the gleaming armor and noble stature that they needed from a king. Loki couldn't help but feel a rush of pride as Asgard looked upon his older brother with not only loyalty, but trust.

It was silent, and not even the wind stirred to interrupt. Thor swallowed hard once, twice—nervous but unfamiliar of how to show it. Despite whatever anxiety was in him, he raised his chin and spoke strongly and boldly, competing with any war drum or war cry that could stir the spirits of many.

"Sons and daughters of Asgard," he said. "Today, we will face struggles. We will face pain and fear and uncertainty. There will be blood—and there will be loss. But of all things, there will _not _be defeat. Whatever Thanos and his armies will throw at us, we—Asgard—and all the nine Realms will stand their ground, keep their wills and their strength, and fight back. Asgard will rise from the ashes of war, and she shall see another sunrise. She shall see her people _thrive_!"

"Hail, Asgard!" someone shouted, and many joined the chant with feverish cries and the need to be confident—the need to know that no matter if they stood or fall, Asgard would live and their loved ones would win.

"And you, Loki," Thor said, lowering his voice.

"Do not let me steal your thunder," said Loki.

"Come, brother," said Thor. "We are equals. Asgard should hear your voice as much as it hears mine."

He nudged Loki forward and Loki swallowed hard. He realized that everyone was staring at him, watching him, waiting with bated breath for what the king of lies would have to say. How could they ever depend on him emotionally, when he once found it impossible himself?

But Asgard was his home, and these were truly his people, regardless of whether his skin was icy blue or the same as theirs. For once, he would give them a word of truth—a word of life. And for once, they will listen.

"People of Asgard," Loki said. "Do not fight for your king or queen or your princes. Do not fight for Valhalla, do not fight for glory."

His heart beat heavily, but he spoke what he needed to say. What his people needed to know.

"You will find yourself in times where you will be asked to shed your blood, to make choices that you never want to be faced with, to show a mercy you never knew was right, to give up what you hold most dear. So do not test your mettle for the sake of the crown. Fight for your home. For your families and friends, for your loved one, for your childhoods and your futures. You, standing here, waiting for death to come—that is greater bravery than any duel or competition or anything that was done for the Valkyries favor."

He felt his cheeks burn and he stepped back quickly, slightly breathless. Asgard laid quiet at first, and he couldn't help but hold his breath. His hand instinctively reached out for Thor's, holding it tight; he realized that somehow, unexpectedly, he was afraid, but Thor gave him strength.

"For the Nine Realms," said Thor.

Loki bowed his head. "For all our homes."

And then, it came.

The cry of the people was overwhelming, and Loki knew that no thunder that Thor ever conjured would ever compare with it. People raised their weapons until a sea of glinting metal streamed through Asgard's land. It stole Loki's breath away as his people cheered for them, for each other, for their home, for their young princes, for the mortals that stood at their side.

Loki took in a gasp of air, his head spinning at the defining moment. And Thor squeezed his hand to reassure him. In that moment, Loki knew the promise he would make—by his life or death, if he could protect the lives of everyone that fought with them, he would. He knew not how or when, but he knew.

The moan of war horns erupted amongst the crowd, and the people stilled immediately. A dark shadow clouded the sky that was too fast and ominous to be a storm. Loki clenched his teeth at the sight of it, knowing what the watchful eyes have seen far too well.

"Thanos comes," he said.

Thor gritted his teeth, gripping the handle of his hammer.

"Prepare for battle!" he said. "Hold fast to your ground, and do not lose heart."

He turned swiftly to Loki.

"Come, brother," he said. "I must inform the Avengers."

"Inform them what?" said Loki, but Thor was already tugging him down the steps of the citadel tower.

The other Avengers were gathered at the foot of the tower, ready to listen to what Thor needed to tell them just before departing to their respective positions. Tony's mask was lifted up and Bruce was armed with every bandage, healing stone, and salve that Asgard could offer as a running medic. Loki's eyes landed on Natasha and he placed a hand on her back. She gave him a sharp nod and turned to Thor.

"My friends," said Thor. Already he had to raise his voice as the armies around them readied for battle and the sound of Thanos' arrival strengthened. "My friends—I ask this of you. Should you come by Thanos, should you come by the Reality Gem—bring it to me. As soon as you can. This is what I ask of you."

"Do not put yourselves on the line for it," Loki said immediately. He couldn't help but feel his neck burn when he realized that this was what Thor had to say when he called for the Avengers. "Whatever you do, don't you dare risk your lives to do it. If you do, I will skin you."

"This is important, isn't it?" said Steve. "If you have the Reality Gem."

"Please, only keep your eye open for it," said Loki before Thor could say another word.

Clint's lips twitched into a smile.

"Well, you did tell us not to risk our lives for the sake of our princes," he said. "But where we're from, we don't have any princes, and we still don't have any here. We only have friends, and that's not forbidden."

Loki opened his mouth, then closed it. He could only put a hand on Clint's shoulder and grip it tight; Clint too grasped Loki's shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

"Has this got to do with the Mind Gem in you?" said Bruce. "The Reality Gem was used to manipulate the Mind Gem in you beyond its abilities—will it be able to take it out of you?"

"Perhaps," Loki said.

"Then we sure as hell need to get that thing," said Bruce.

A loud crash interrupted them, making them all jump in their places. Fire streaked the sky, barely missing the crowds of Asgard's armies in the field. Thanos was already making his move.

"We must get our people to prepare the catapults, and the sorcerers to ready their attacks," said Thor. "We should get into our positions soon."

"Wait a second there, Point Break," said Tony, holding Thor back before Thor could depart. "Don't leave. Not yet."

Another loud crash and yelling shook them, and the air felt hot with flashing metal and fire. Loki's heart beat wildly in his chest, and he forced himself not to look toward the horizon where he knew Thanos would be—the large shadow that struck fear in his every being.

He felt Natasha underneath his hand and he took a breath—No, there was nothing to be afraid of. Not with them here. Not with the ones he loved.

"This is it, guys," said Tony. He spoke fast, as if afraid that the battle would cut him short too soon. "This is it—we knew we would face this from day one, ever since we found Loki and Thor in that forest, and I don't regret anything about it. We're in this together, and we'll get out of this together."

Another rush of heat and sound, and Loki's nerves itched to defend his home. He heard the war cries of the Chitauri, the whirring of their engines and their weapons, and battle was upon them—Thanos not far behind.

"Everyone listen to me," Tony said, raising his voice. He threw his arms around the two nearest people's shoulders—Natasha and Bruce—until he drew the whole gang close. "Listen to me. Every face I see right now, right here, looking at me, I will see every single one of these faces again after this, and they're all going to be smiling back at me. This will happen. No exceptions, no buts, no rain checks. This is not an order, this is not a promise—it's a fact. We _will _win. Together."

"Okay," Natasha said, her voice breathless. "Okay."

Bruce gripped Tony's forearm reassuringly. Steve made a silent prayer for them all. Loki watched them, and all this gave him strength—gave him heart.

"Let's do this," Tony said.

With that, he broke from the crowd, flipped on his face mask, and darted toward his position. Steve puled on his uniform's hood and followed Tony promptly. Clint gave everyone left behind a short nod before heading to the archers' nest. Before Natasha or Bruce could depart, a loud and bone-chilling voice rang through the heavy air—a voice so familiar that Loki felt his blood run cold.

"Asgardians," said Thanos, his voice so powerful and troubling that it lingered in every ear, even from so many leagues away. "You have armored and readied yourself to die."

But when Thor spoke, in a voice no quieter or weaker than Thanos', Loki found himself unafraid.

"Save your breath to attempt to delay your last, Thanos," Thor said, his voice carrying over every direction as a god should.

Loki could not truly see Thanos from where he was, but he imagined the war titan leering.

"Obstinate and unwilling," said Thanos. "Yes, yes…Lady Death will be most pleased with you and your people sent to her black realms."

Thanos' army was drawing nearer—the archers could reach them with their arrows from here. The ground shook with anticipation and apprehension. The people shook with it. War drew closer, and so did Thanos' Lady Death.

"Have heart, children of Asgard," Thor said, "and we will not fall."

He thrust Mjölnir into the air; the clouds spun before him, sparkling with powerful lightning. The wind began to pick up, and Loki took in a deep breath.

"For our homes," Loki whispered.

And with that last war cry, Asgard and Thanos battled.


	39. Chapter 39

**I apologize for the lack of epic-ness. For someone who started their writing career off with a lot of war stories, I don't write traditional sword-and-shield battles very well. **

**Also, while I'm here, I might as well give you guys my not-so-good news. Next week, I'll be at an Intervarsity retreat, so the chances of me updating are slim to none, so you might have to wait two weeks for the next update. With the off chance that I sneak in an update next week, I will probably not be able to update the week after that because there's a strong chance that I will be off on vacation for who knows how long and I really doubt I'll have any access to the internet there. I'm not even going to try to sugar-coat it: chances are you will be left with some form of a cliffhanger. Anyway, this chapter is long so it ought to make up for it, right?**

**I wrote a oneshot about Thor mourning after Loki's fall, as I have alluded to last chapter! It is on AO3 and on my fanfiction account. Please read!**

* * *

This was war, and Tony had to remind himself that he had faced this before.

He was the birth of war for the longest time in his career. He was the one who supplied the firearms, who constructed the very tools of death that ended the families of many. And despite his determination to stray away from that past, he was here again—in the midst of war, in the fire and in the blood.

The jets of power from his suit could only take down so many Chitauri before they could retaliate. Their shots skimmed past the surface of his armor, leaving angry scorches that rattled him inside. His blood sang in his ears as he dodged, flying across the air to fight the enemy. The Asgardians around him, armored nearly as heavily as he, fought with ferocity and unprecedented power as their home was invaded.

But these Chitauri were not the weak and mindless drones that they were in New York City. These warriors were intelligent, fierce, and merciless. In the first hour of the battle, blood coated the fields of Asgard from both sides. Enough to water the trampled grass and dye the new shoots blood red.

"Cap!" Tony said. He wished Bluetooth would work in Asgard but to no avail. Even JARVIS had difficulty functioning in the foreign realm. "Cap, to your left!"

Steve spun around just in time to block the blow of incoming Chitauri with his shield. He flung his shield and bowled over the enemies.

"Thanks, Stark," said Steve.

"Less talking, more surviving."

Tony lashed out at the coming Chitauri. Two of them dodged the blow and shot at him. Tony darted up into the air as Steve dropped to the ground immediately to avoid the hit. A yell came behind Tony and he winced, realizing that the blow hit some mark.

A volley of arrows soared over their heads, sinking into the charge of Chitauri coming their way. Many fell, but still many came running. Swords clashed with metal exoskeleton—guns aimed at heavy helmets—bodies fell on both sides.

"Is this anything like your first war, Cap?" Tony said. He could barely hear himself.

"The aliens are a new touch," Steve said.

Tony laughed. "Aren't we technically the aliens here?"

Steve nearly cracked a smile before a shot barely grazed his leg. He jumped out of the way, his uniform singed and smoking. Tony immediately directed his shots against the general direction from which the shot came, not stopping until nearly ten Chitauri were shot down.

There were screams of the dying in every direction, and no one had the time to look down. There were many designated medics on the job, but Tony realized the moment he slipped from grass slick with blood that there could never be enough. There was no place for safety to keep anyone for the time being. Nowhere was safe from Thanos as he escorted his Lady Death to Asgard.

"Tony, a charge is coming from the southwest direction!" said Steve.

"Is that on my right or on my left?" said Tony.

"Just move!"

Before Tony could say anything else, Steve rushed forward, his shield already flying from his grasp to attack. Asgardians rushed forward, swords versus alien technology, and neither sides' armor was strong enough to keep away the pain of destruction.

"Shoot down the first line, Tony!" said Steve.

Tony used his jet of power to blast away the first line of Chitauri. Many fell on the spot, others wounded and stumbled onward nonetheless. But the Chitauri's rifles could reach farther distance faster than the Asgardians' swords, and many a warrior fell before the Chitauri could touch them.

"We have to disengage their weapons somehow," said Steve.

"Their weapons are powered by whatever is powering the Chitauri," said Tony. He scanned the Chitauri rifle quickly within his suit's technology, noting every tremor of power that thrummed in it.

"Is that another mothership?" said Steve.

"Doesn't look like it," Tony said. "Looks more like a—watch out!"

Steve saw the oncoming shot and immediately brought his shield up to block it. Much of the gilded metal chipped off and Steve growled.

"We need another plan of action," he said. "We need to depower them."

"Yeah, well, send me another missile and I'll shoot it at them," said Tony.

Steve barely had time to retort before an explosion beneath their feet sent the both of them flying into the air in a whirlwind of dirt and bodies. Tony hung in the air for perhaps less than a second before he came crashing down against his back, dirt and ash showering on him. Air snapped out of his lungs and he blacked out for what could have been seconds or minutes. He coughed, his bones shuddering as he pushed himself back onto his feet.

Steve—where was Steve?

"These bastards have themselves some sort of grenade," Steve's voice said.

Tony breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Steve's voice, but he could not see him. In fact, he could hardly see anything, and he realized with a jolt that his mask had been heavily scratched to the point of useless. With a growl, he tore it off and saw Steve right before him, bleeding along the hairline but standing tall.

"Cap, your head," said Tony.

"Forget about it, I've had worse," said Steve. He turned to the others who had been affected by the explosion. Most of them were still alive albeit injured, but two had shrapnel of a foreign sort embedded in nearly every inch of their body until Tony felt sick to the stomach looking at them, and he wished he did not tear away his mask so quickly.

"We've got to take them away from here," Steve said, nodding to the wounded. He bent down, hoisting a groaning soldier onto his back.

"Take them _where_?" said Tony. "The medics aren't for another several miles behind us. There isn't a cubbyhole where we can store them."

"We can't leave them in the line of fire!" said Steve.

"Oh, for God's sake—"

Tony bent down and pulled an unconscious warrior over his shoulders. "Lead on, Cap. Before we get our asses burned too."

They rushed back, praying that they wouldn't take so long as to abandon their fellow soldiers in the front line. The air was hot with fire and the stench of blood, and Tony's ears rung from the sound of firing rifles and clanging metal. They could only go so far as the second line before they could set their injured comrades down behind a lilt in the field, shielded only be several inches rise of the ground, before rushing back to their posts.

But the battle was cruel, and almost unfair. The Asgardians were used to fighting in such a way that once they attacked their opponent, there was no doubt when they killed. Death was in the form of a skewered head or a heart punctured right out of the chest; the Chitauri shot into the crowd and moved on; leaving the Asgardians crumpled in the soil with a hole through their lungs or stomachs, choking in their own blood and having far too much time to fear inevitable death. Too much time to cry, too much time to say their frantic last words begging for their loved ones before their breath was choked out and gone. The Chitauri received a gruesome but immediate death; only the voices of the dying Asgardians were heard.

"We _have _to find a way to get to their weakness," said Steve. "The Asgardians' armor can only protect them so much; these Chitauri have the upper hand no matter how you look at it."

"We have sorcerers on our side," said Tony.

"Not that many. They're outnumbered, and swords can only go so far. Tony, find a way to locate the exact source of the Chitauri and their technology. If like in New York City they all died off because they were connected to the mothership, then there must be something like it here."

"Roger that, Rogers," said Tony. "JARVIS, scan the—oh shit."

"What is it?" said Steve.

"My face mask was broken. That's how the suit scans and studies everything. Dammit." Tony called out several shooters at his wrists and shot at incoming Chitauri. "Change of plan. See if somehow we can get ourselves a POW and bully the answer out of them."

"You condone that?" said Steve. "After the mess-up that happened last time?"

"Look, that's the best source we can get!" said Tony. "And if we keep our tempers calm, we won't have anyone stabbing the living shit out of them again, okay?"

Steve clenched his teeth.

"It's unthinkable," he said, "how I feel like it's so okay to do that to the enemy just because they don't look human."

"Well," Tony said, his voice dry, "we all cope with war somehow."

A missile of alien sorts shot through the air, burrowing itself into the dirt and sending rocks flying in every direction. It sparked a fire that grew into a monster, flames eating at the bloody grass and reaching all across the front line. Black smoke thickened and burned their eyes and noses, until their senses were muddled and pain came from the unseen.

"Put it out, put it out!" said Steve. The fire was catching on the trampled grass, and far too quickly.

"You think I have a hose in my suit?" said Tony.

And as the fire rose, Tony realized just how ironic it was: he came to put an end to destruction, and his suit—his weapon of choice—he—had no power to put a stop to this devastation, only the power to feed the flame.

In a fit of energy and anger, he shot jets of flame and a shower of bullets upon the Chitauri. Tens upon tens died before they could come close to him, and their bodies were consumed by the fire until not even the metal of their armor was left behind. His eyes and nose burned from the smell of charred bone, and he practically felt the boiled blood on his hands.

Thanos' side of the war was not the only ones that could decimate.

* * *

With handguns at her side and assassins' knives between her fingers, Natasha felt like the enemy.

To stand side-by-side with her allies who wielded swords and maces in one hand and a shield in the other while she killed with a simple pull of the trigger, she wondered if at one point the Asgardians would accidentally attack _her. _She only had a suit of chainmail underneath her usual uniform to match her fellow Asgardians, but that wouldn't stop the strike of a Chitauri bullet or a blade no matter what Loki did to it.

This had to be nothing, she told herself as she dodged to duck the bullets coming her way. This had to be nothing. She had faced the Chitauri before, with odds even worse than now, and yet they won. And they will win again. This had to be nothing.

So why did her heart jump at the sight of the growing number of Chitauri as her allies fell one by one? Why did she feel the frantic pain when a Chitauri shot at her thigh and burnt the skin and muscle instead of the usual numbness she had accustomed herself to when wounded? _Why was she afraid?_

This was war, and this was slaughter. No matter what angle she saw it, she knew: Asgard was outnumbered.

And yet they fought with no looming terror in their face, nor did they die with regret even when they were punctured and shattered. Their swords still pierced Chitauri bones and their arrows flew unbelievable lengths to keep the enemy at bay, but victory was still so far from reach.

Natasha ran forth where fallen stones piled to form a moment of safety. She pressed her back against the stones, craning her neck just enough that she could see what lay ahead on the other side from the corner of her eye. She held her gun aloft, watching as Chitauri loomed closer, before stretching out her arm and aiming her shots. One, two, three Chitauri were down in an instant, and she hid away from sight.

"Hey!" she called out to warrior running near her. She saw he had a slingshot at his waist and she gestured wildly at him to come to her. "Hey, take your shots here!"

The young warrior only gave her an incredulous look before racing forward to the Chitauri with pike in hand.

"What the hell are you all doing?" she said.

All the Asgardians were racing toward battle head-on, the cavalry leading them to the bloodbath and straight into the line of fire. They were nothing more than moving targets to the Chitauri, who only needed a machine gun to ensure their survival.

But the looks that they shot at her were not anything else but incredulous and confused as they saw her shooting at the enemy from behind a pile of rocks. Some even looked upon her with disapproval, and she could only gape back. Was this not how it was done in the battlefield, from the beaches of Iwo Jima to the skirmish in the Middle East? Was that not how it was done in a fight between—?

And then Natasha remembered. Of course, of course, _of course—_what did a society raised with swords and shields know about fighting a war against firearms they've never faced before?

This was a suicide mission at best—this was terror.

She needed to find whoever was in charge—Odin, Thor, whoever. Thor should know what it was like to fight the Chitauri, he ought to know this was going to fail no matter how enhanced their weapons or shields were. So long as the Chitauri had the advantage of distance, and Asgard's number of archers could not compare—Asgard could only beg for hope.

She dashed out of her place, moving fast so that nothing could touch her and aiming randomly at the crowd of Chitauri. But what could anyone do now, when the war had long run free from its leash and nothing could stop its momentum?

There! A familiar face—or as familiar as one can get in the midst of a foreign realm. Natasha picked up her speed, nearly getting hit by Chitauri bullets and mowed down by Asgardians running perpendicular to her.

"Sif!" she cried. "Sif!"

Sif must have panicked, because the head of the Chitauri she was battling flew perhaps seventy yards in her flurry of action. Natasha ducked before the head could hit her, thankful that at least one Asgardian could take care of herself in a war between past legends and technologized reality.

"Lady Natasha?" said Sif, bloodied strands of hair clinging to her face. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Asgard doesn't stand a chance if they keep it up like this," said Natasha, trying to speak over the sounds of battle. "The Chitauri are mowing them down like some gigantic deforestation project while our people run toward them with only swords and shields."

"That is battle, Lady Natasha," Sif said through gritted teeth.

"No, that's suicide," said Natasha. "Look, if you had cavalry and a battalion with only swords against an army that are practically full of archers, except their arrows are crazy fast and powerful and can pierce through your armor no problem, would this be smart to you?"

"You and Clint have the same thoughts on this," Sif said, wiping her forehead. "Then how do you propose we do this? This is no game of chess. The opponent has no time to spare to wait for our next move."

"I have no clue," said Natasha. "But we can't just throw our hands in the air and say, 'oh well' about this."

Sif breathed heavily, dirt smeared on her face and an ugly wound on her shoulder. She looked about her, at the war that burned around them.

"Have you ever been in war, Lady Natasha?" she said.

"I don't think we have the time to sit down and talk like this," said Natasha.

"Have you?" said Sif.

Natasha did not answer.

"Then you will see," said Sif, "that this is what all war looks like. Both sides—marching without hesitation or consideration—to death."

Natasha let out a yell of frustration.

"There is no honor in this," she said. "There is no such thing as an honorable death. You know what we say on Earth? You don't win a war by dying for your country—you win by making the other son of a bitch die for his." She grabbed Sif's shoulder. "And this—_this—_isn't how you go about it. If you were put up against even mortals, whom you probably think are weak and dishonorable, you'd all be dead in seconds."

Sif jerked away from Natasha's grip, teeth bared and fire in her eyes. Before she could let daggers fly from her tongue, a grating bang shook the ground and nearly made the both of them topple. Natasha spun around and saw the fire bloom far ahead of them, a pinprick of gold swelling into a vicious and deathly plague, stretching like a snake along the edge.

Natasha cursed in Russian before immediately ducking, pulling Sif down with her as Chitauri aimed for their heads. She raised her handgun and shot once—twice—before the Chitauri could come any closer. Their bodies jerked on impact before collapsing like precariously piled matchsticks. Natasha dived forward and wrestled the rifles from their stiff grips and returned the attack on approaching Chitauri. The heavy rifle shuddered in her arms after each shot, but she mustered her strength to keep it held aloft and aimed right until a line of Chitauri were down.

"Hey!" she shouted to Sif. "You know how to use these babies?"

"I beg your pardon?" Sif said.

Natasha held up the rifle for Sif to see. Sif blanched at the sight of the monstrous machine.

"You can strap it to your back for desperate measures, even," Natasha said. "Trust me on this—it's not going to hurt you as long as you aren't pointing it to yourself."

"I'm not worried about _that_," said Sif. "It's a crude weapon."

"That's rich, coming from you Vikings," said Natasha.

Another explosion wracked her head and screams punctured the air. A crowd of Asgardians were dispersed, flying into the air and disconnected from the rest of their bodies as explosives shattered them. Natasha felt her breath stop short at the catastrophe and realized that Sif may have a point about the savagery of modernized weapons.

"Bastards got themselves grenades," said Natasha through clenched teeth.

Sif was seething, her eyes wild with anger and horror.

"This is not battle," she said. "This is the manner of massacre."

"Thanos doesn't care about honor, Sif," said Natasha. "If you want to survive, you have to fight. I don't mean duel—I mean _fight_."

"We cannot fall back," said Sif. "Not now, else we will be crushed."

"Find Odin, or Thor, or whoever's in command. I don't even know who's in command," said Natasha.

"The All-Father," said Sif.

"Fine, go to him—you have to tell him there's got to be another way," said Natasha. "Maybe we can attack from above somehow—I doubt you guys have dragons, but the Chitauri have the advantage of not needing to come close to us in order to kill us. Unless everyone can shoot a bow and arrow well enough, we need to either find a way to close the distance to our advantage or get another tactic."

Sif swallowed hard, eyes boring into Natasha's.

"I will go to him," said Sif.

Natasha nodded stiffly, grasping Sif's shoulder supportively.

"You sure you don't want to take a rifle with you?" said Natasha.

Sif held up her shield. There were scratches along the once majestic metal, but strong and thick with power and enchantments.

"It has served me well all this time," said Sif. "I think I can protect myself from the coming blows."

"Go, then," said Natasha. "And _run_. Not in a straight line. They can't aim at you as easily that way."

Sif's eyes flashed and a crooked smile at Natasha.

"You are far out of Loki's league," said Sif.

And with that, she dashed into the fire.

* * *

"A fine hit!"

Loki gritted his teeth before conjuring another dagger and flinging it to the Chitauri. It lodged perfectly into one's throat and it collapsed, blood spurting from the wound.

"Now is not the time to share compliments, brother," Loki said.

Thor spun Mjölnir into a frenzy before hurling it forward. The mighty hammer shuttled through the crowd, breaking many bodies before rushing back into Thor's grasp. The two brothers fought side by side, barely able to take a breath before another threat came to them. It never made any sense to Loki how killing each other's warriors solved any diplomatic disagreement; even now, with the Nine Realms' fate at stake, he couldn't help but question how war was supposed to solve anything.

"To your left, Loki!" said Thor.

Loki conjured a ball of crackling power and shot it to his side. The Chitauri screeched as the magic burned through their armor and their skin and left fatal, gaping wounds. Loki let out a growl and ground his heel into their ribs for good measure. He lugged one of the rifles onto his shoulder and used it to bash in a Chitauri's head. It fell on impact, its skull cracked, and Loki remembered exactly why he hated getting his hands dirty in battle—this bludgeoning, stabbing, slicing was all too cruel and vulgar, like slaughtering animals for the butchers.

"Thor, lead your left flank," said Loki. "We cannot keep pushing against the Chitauri head-on. We must find a weak spot within them."

"Right you are," said Thor. "Come with me?"

"Where else would I go?" said Loki

The two brothers rallied their platoon, most who were luckily still among them. Loki let out a sigh of relief when he saw that their armor and weapons were still holding up, despite the wounds that inflicted them. He knew the charm he placed could only last through so much damage, but if it was time he could steal, then it was enough.

"Should we go over that hill?" said Loki.

"No," said Thor. "With the Chitauri's weapons, they will have the advantage. If we were archers or gunslingers such as they, we would have had a better chance."

The platoon snaked away from the Chitauri's main attention, sidling to the side. Loki felt the burn of war within him, a deadly mixture of adrenaline and indignation brewing into something terrible. He kept a firm grip on the rifle—there was no telling if he would ever need it.

"How do you all fare?" Loki called out to the men and women he led.

"We've lost some of our brothers," said Volstagg. Blood coated his left side, but Loki could tell it was not his own. "The Chitauri remain numerous, and while they do not push us back, we cannot push them away."

"You've all fought bravely and viciously," said Loki. "I pray you hold on longer, that we will drive these creatures into defeat. Does anyone need dire healing?"

"Loki, we have little time to tend to wounds now," said Thor. He was breathless at this point, looking upon the war. "The Chitauri are moving in, and fast."

"They will notice us raging toward them, even if we come from the left where we are unexpected," said Volstagg. "My princes, we will gain no better advantage."

"Good man, Volstagg," Loki said with a tired huff. It amazed Loki how fast Volstagg could move despite his girth. "I may have a plan of desperation, if we must."

"Speak quickly," said Thor.

"You and I both possess power that passes AEsir," said Loki. "We seek to weaken the enemy, not battle them. They cannot withstand your lightning and my magic."

Thor furrowed his eyebrows. "I do not produce lightning, but wield it," said Thor, "but you will be weakened if you exert so much magic, whether the Mind Gem inhibits your or not."

"It will not be to my utmost extent," said Loki. "Only enough to weaken this flank, and whomever that are left behind, let our platoon have their match. Thor, their numbers are worrying, we must do _something_."

Thor looked from Loki to the other warriors behind them. "Are there no drawbacks to this?" said Thor. "We are no more than half a day into battle and we are already revealing this side of us. I'm afraid that Thanos will take this to his advantage."

"And if we only wait for the opportune moment to wield our powers, perhaps there will be no time left once Thanos has already beaten us all," said Loki. "Come, Thor. Our men and women fight to the last drop of blood and we can ease their load."

Thor gritted his teeth before nodding.

"Ready the men, Loki," said Thor. "I will show the Chitauri whom they stand against."

He spun Mjölnir rapidly until the mighty hammer was nothing but a blurred pinwheel illusion, the wind picking up and tangling their hair. With a powerful swing Thor shot into the air following Mjölnir's momentum, shrinking into a sanguine speck like a drop of blood on the clouds. Loki tore his eyes from his brother and called attention to the warriors at his command.

"How many of us are there, Volstagg?" said Loki.

"Forty-five men and women, my prince," said Volstagg.

Loki could still not believe that Volstagg—or the Warriors Three, for that matter—would respect him after his return, and he made a note in his mind to be utterly thankful of it later.

"Forty-five," he said, making the mental calculation. "That should be all right. Come—I will cast a disillusion spell upon all of you and you will position yourself atop that hill. Thor will deliver his blow, and I will not be merciful either, and you all will catch them by surprise and give the last attack. This is not battle or war, my friends—this is survival."

"How will we know when to attack?" said Volstagg.

"When you deem it safe," said Loki. He shrugged. "Several strikes of lightning and a magical decimation will not be hard to miss on top of a hill. The charm may not last while you fight—it may fall away, but it may prove to be at your advantage so long as they do not see you coming down to them. It would not do well if you swung your sword too vigorously and accidentally stabbed your unseen comrade."

The clouds began to churn furiously overhead, the sky darkening considerably. Loki needed to act fast. He turned to Volstagg.

"You will lead them," he said.

"Aye, I shall," said Volstagg.

"Good man," said Loki, clapping a hand on Volstagg's broad shoulder.

When his hand met the metal armor Loki let his magic flow from him and onto his warriors until their color drained from them, melting to the background as if they were chameleons. The pink of their flesh sank into the green-gray of the grass behind them or the dark bruise of the sky at their heads until Loki could not truly see them in front of him, though he felt Volstagg's shoulder still underneath his palm. He backed away, the shadows of Thor's building storm deepening.

"Now go," said Loki.

"What of you, my prince?" said Volstagg. "What will you do?"

Loki gave a very grim smile.

"I will send them a scourge," he said.

The thunder splintered in the air and Loki took it as his cue. He turned toward the battle and took off toward it, splitting his image from his body until a perfect replica walked alongside his invisible self.

He could see Thor in the sky—a brilliant, garish red streak in the gray clouds—before lightning nearly blinded him. A bolt of lightning shuttled toward the ground teeming with Chitauri, scorching many on the spot and sending more of their numbers flying in the air from the impact. The storm churned, lightning bolts braiding within each other until they formed a massive and terrible power before hurtling into the Chitauri, melting the metal off their bodies and blackening their bones. They hadn't even enough time to scream before they beheld the full power of the god of thunder, raining destruction on the masses.

This was the power that Loki had long learned to both revere and fear in their youth, when Thor was bestowed Mjölnir. And here—this was the power that shook the earth until his own knees quaked, and for a moment he questioned his choice, questioned if mass destruction was truly war, or if it was only hypocrisy. Loki never fancied himself a master of war; he did not know if there was a difference.

"Come, Loki," he whispered to himself. His illusion remained perfectly silent, lips pressed together mutely. "They would do the same to your people—and they are."

He could barely hear himself as Thor raged his storm up ahead, whipping wind to his bidding. Loki wondered how long Thor could keep this up.

"Give them what will stop them," said Loki. "For in this war, Death can only be beaten by death. Do not fear, Loki, and _fight_!"

With that, he ran forward, gathering his magic at his fingertips until they itched, scratching at his fingernails and screaming to be released. He ran until the Chitauri, whoever was left among the throng, spotted his illusion and aimed their rifles to strike at him.

That they thought he would run like a savage down to them in battle!

Few saw it coming. Those that didn't only knew of the plague that shriveled their insides the moment it touched them before they knew nothing more. Those that did saw the image of Loki disappear as bullets cleanly flew through his head and the waves of green smoke billow toward their direction. Those that did felt their lungs constrict until no air would come in or out, felt the fluids in their eyes boil and burst, felt their hearts wrench and fail.

Only several had the voice left to scream as Loki sent forth his scourge, his magical holocaust, until he collapsed onto one knee as his magic became too strained from the effort. But even then his destruction felled half of the battalion, leaving nothing but mangled and diseased bodies in heaps on the field.

And Loki nearly let out a cry, for it did not matter if the Chitauri had tortured him, had relished in seeing him suffer, had intended to destroy everything he loved…in the end it was Thanos who bent them to his will, Thanos who drove them into war with promises Loki knew he would not keep—and Loki who tortured them to death.

And the roar—he had nearly forgotten. The roar of his warriors coming down the hill before mowing down whatever Chitauri was left for them, overpowering them easily. Loki felt his invisibility flicker alongside theirs, and as they came to view so did he. They ripped through the Chitauri, shattered the battalion until there was virtually none left.

He prayed that none would get hurt. That they would endure.

"Brother!"

Thor's voice arrived before he did, intermingling with the rumbling of thunder. Loki pushed himself back onto his feet before Thor landed from the sky, crashing into the hard ground and splintering stones as if they were bones under his feet.

"The clouds for now have been spent," Thor said. If I want another storm, I can only wait for the sky to rebuild it for me." He looked upon Loki and his face became grave. "You look spent."

"You try doing half of the things I have to do and look chipper afterward," said Loki. "We have no time to waste on me, Thor. Our warriors are victorious, but only for now."

Thor nodded, looking upon the waste that their platoon had bestowed on the Chitauri. Still, the Chitauri's numbers were overwhelming, and one battalion taken out could only do so much for the sake of Asgard.

"What more could we do?" said Thor. "What blows can we deal on the Chitauri? On Thanos?"

There was no visible sign of Thanos as far as Loki could see. He would not know how he would react if he saw the war titan again with his own eyes.

"Everything that we can give," said Loki. War burned around him. "Come on!"

Something beat heavily in his chest, anxious and sharp, and he realized that it was not the Mind Gem he had always blamed, but his own fevered heart.

* * *

War at night was the worst. While the darkness hid the gore and the bright splotches of blood, it strengthened its stench and touch. Blood became slippier and decay began its trek on its victims. The figure approaching—swathed in shadows—could be a foe as easily as it could be a friend. Each sound was too close and too far—the groans of comrades injured and helpless were out of reach and the footsteps and weapons of the enemy too close for comfort.

But for Bruce, who was a good two miles back from the battle in the tent of healers, darkness was a curse. The candles shed too little light, and even the lights that sorceresses cast were not enough for him to tend to the heavy wounds.

"I need more light over here, please!" he said, trying to hold steady a needle as his patient squirmed in pain underneath him. The wound on his head was gaping and still steadily bleeding, and if Bruce didn't stitch it up instantly it would only get worse, but without a proper light he couldn't stop himself from accidentally stabbing the man in the eye.

"Coming, sir." A young apprentice held another lantern above the patient's head, shedding just a little more light upon Bruce's work. Bruce grunted thanks before painstakingly stitching the large wound. Even with blood pulsating out of it, Bruce could admit that this was the milder of cases he had seen so far. And was not the night still young, with only two hours left until sunrise, for something worse to come?

"I don't know if the string will keep out an infection," said Bruce to Frigga, who oversaw the healers alongside Eir. The queen was nearly unrecognizable without her rich robes of gold, but she still had her air of power and control that demanded reverence. "I cleaned it, but the wound was left alone for a while before he came to me."

"The thread ought to keep the wound safe," said Frigga. "It is not infection I am worried of, for AEsir are hardy against it. But he has lost a good amount of blood already."

"How many healing stones do we have left?" said Bruce, tying the stitch closed.

He snipped the thread and placed the needle in a kettle of boiling water to wash away the grime. The tent was already inhabited by many wounded warriors, some preparing to return to the battle the next morning, others struggling to make it to the next hour. Healers worked tirelessly, never without a bowl of hot water and cloths or bandages and healing herbs—some were blessed with the magic of healing and worked until their energy was at a bare minimum. But Bruce could tell that this would not be enough.

"Several bushels," said Frigga. "But those are meant for the medics who run about the battlefield, and we are already running lower than we expected."

Bruce clenched his teeth, taking in a deep breath and nearly suffocating from the smell of blood and infection. The moans of pain were constant until they became as common as wind—and when he realized he was not disturbed by the choking, guttural breaths drowning in the blood of ripped throats he knew he had gone past the point of no return.

"Eir, do we have any more of that salve?" said Bruce. The next patient had terrible burns across their face and chest, rendering him unrecognizable. He could barely breathe and Bruce could not be certain that he would last the night.

The healing goddess came to him, hands promptly busy with tending the ugly burns and lips mutely murmuring chants of enchantment. Bruce could not help but feel out of place—in the midst of healing via sorcery and herbs, he was a sore thumb with his Midgardian techniques.

He swiftly bound the deep gash in a warrior's stomach, hastily treating for shock before the situation could worsen. The cavernous tent was already bustling and he wondered how the battlefield itself faired…if the dead outnumbered the living. If Thanos' dead outnumbered _their _living.

There was a shout, a cry of help, and Bruce looked up immediately. Two warriors entered, half-supporting half-carrying a third whose blood coated the entire left side of their head. Bruce's heart jumped at the ghastly wound and he searched the warriors' face for familiarity. It was always like this when a new person was taken to the healers'; Bruce would search for a face he knew, contorted in agony of a ghastly wound—or worse, blank and unconscious and close to death. None of his friends had been injured yet…at least, they were never in a state that required his assistance, and he could only take comfort that they were either well enough to continue fighting or had a quick death.

"Is this your first time in war?" Frigga said to him as Bruce washed the blood from his hands. Even when he washed away the stains his hands were perpetually red. It would not surprise him if it was permanent.

"Does it show?" Bruce said.

"No," said Frigga. "All healers are in battle, no matter what the ailment."

Bruce smiled in spite of himself. "I'm usually a doctor for illnesses, not battle wounds."

"You work tirelessly either way," said Frigga.

Bruce mopped the blood away from the new warrior's face. The warrior was young, no older than an adolescent, and he was whimpering in pain. Bruce forced himself to take deep breaths, clearing his mind as he cleaned the boy's blood away and worked on the wound. The young always gave up so much of themselves in war.

Frigga's eyes flashed at the sight of the grievously wounded child, but she had no time to dally. She could only roll up her sleeves and work on the next wounded man, whose arm was threatening so misshapen that it seemed like an unrecognizable appendage. Bruce was not unfamiliar to the twinge of motherly grief in Frigga at the sight of the dying child whispering for his family. But a queen could not choose favorites, and men and women were dying all around them all the same.

"This is far from your first war, is it?" Bruce said to Frigga when the child had been tended to. It had been a shrapnel to the head; it made Bruce's stomach churn, thinking of how advanced the other side was.

Frigga held a hand of glowing power over thewarrior's shattered arm. The skin was mottled and purple, nearly gray, and Bruce unconsciously searched the flesh for an entrance of gangrene. The warrior grasped with pain and jerked underneath Frigga's touch.

"Please hold him down for me," said Frigga.

Bruce nodded and placed two gentle but firm hands on the warrior's shoulders. The man breathed heavily through clenched teeth, sweat pouring from his hairline as his infected, broken arm attempted to heal.

Even without Frigga speaking to him, Bruce could read it all in the way she worked tirelessly and silently on each patient. She had seen wars—tens, hundreds, maybe thousands, one for each year she lived. And each time it would rob her of her friends, her father, her husband, or her sons and leave her feverish and uncertain that war would return her loves to her. But she was queen and could not afford time to mourn while so many needed her as both regent of the throne and healer of their sons and daughters. The proof hung heavy on her skin and in her eyes like tattered flags.

"Have we got more healing stones?" a loud voice cried as a figure rushed into the tent in a flurry. "Please hurry—I need more healing stones!"

"We must cauterize the wound, before it can do further damage—"

"Wait a little moment, a bed will free up in just a moment, please—"

"In the name of Valhalla, may the Valkyries guide the soul of Ulfr son of Regin to eternal rest—"

"Please help him, you must be able to do something—"

"Press this against the wound, quickly!"

There was never peace when it came to trying to save lives. Bruce knew why he was a doctor—there was too much worrying to do, too many sounds and the thoughts of others, to let his own mind settle into its own and find something to be angry about.

"This wound will not heal," Frigga said, her voice low. "Is it cursed?"

Bruce thought of Clint's predicament earlier. He examined the wounded arm and an unsettling fear overtook his mind when he recognized the situation.

"How did he come by this?" said Bruce. He turned to the young man squirming in unbearable pain under his hands. "How long did you have this injury?"

"I do not know," said the man—no, _boy_—eyes brimming with tears. "I apologize, I do not—I thought it was broken but—"

"It's not just broken," said Bruce. "I think it's getting infected by gangrene."

Frigga lifted her eyes questioningly to Bruce.

"Gangrene," said Bruce. "It's—it's vile. It's an infection that can eat you inside out. The bones are terribly broken, but the actual gangrene may have come from something earlier."

"Then what can be done for him?" said Frigga.

Bruce swallowed hard. "We have to amputate the arm. Or else it will spread to his vitals and kill him."

Frigga's jaw tensed. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," said Bruce.

Frigga's eyes hardened before she turned to Eir. "Help us, Eir. This young man cannot keep his arm."

"No," said the warrior, voice laced with panic. "No! Please, your highness—do not do this. Do not cut off my arm."

"I know you're scared," said Bruce. "I know you are, but it will be okay. This will help you—this will save you."

The young soldier flailed underneath Bruce's grip, his wounded arm flopping limply on the cot. He breathed heavily and Bruce feared he would start hyperventilating.

"You cannot—please, sir," said the young boy. "Don't do this, please don't do this. Don't cut off my arm, I beg of you!"

(_You can't cut it off. I'll be useless. I'll be nothing. You can't cut off my arm, you can't cut off me, Doc. Please—please, you can't_)

Bruce found it harder to breathe. There was no hope for the arm, he knew this—but he couldn't help but curse magic and sorcery and his own incapability that nothing could produce a miracle. Just once, for this young boy whose arm was to be sawed off.

Eir approached with a slim saw, a bowl of hot water, and heavy bandages. Bruce took a deep breath before preparing the material for a tourniquet. The soldier's eyes wandered to the blades and he let out a sob.

"Sir, I am a farmer," he said. "I am a farmer and I have no father anymore. I haven't for a long, long time, and my mother and siblings depend on my hand to work, to bring food to the table. My sisters and brothers are far too young to work, and my mother is weak. Please, sir—without my good hand, I will be able to do nothing. I will not be able to care for them. Please…"

Bruce was a doctor, but if anything doctors were not callous, and the young soldier broke his heart. But there was nothing—nothing he could do. Nothing that could change.

"Listen to me," said Bruce. "You are strong. I know you are. You are strong and courageous and you will get out of this alive. And you know what? You are going to grow stronger. You'll learn to live with your left hand, and you'll find yourself capable of things you never dreamed. Don't give up—you can't give up. It'll be all right. Your family will be cared for, and _you _will be cared for."

"Doctor, hurry," Eir said, her voice rising as the cries of the other healers and patients grew in volume.

Bruce could not bring himself to look into the young soldier's tearstained eyes. He took in a deep breath before tying the tourniquet around the boy's arm, tying tight his fate.

(_Is this your first time in war?)_

_(No, it is not__)_

* * *

Clint had to admit, while he was glad of the never-ending supply of arrows for his tampered bow, there was a significant lack of explosive arrows in his stash.

This thought was much prevalent when a Chitauri grenade flew right into his post with other archers and no amount of leaping out of the way protected him from its blow. The force blew him a clear forty feet off his post, shattering the surroundings until there was no sign of his fellow archers anywhere. There was no sign of anything as dirt and rock showered down on him, nearly burying him in the earth.

His lungs hurt as he gasped for breath, tasting mud and blood on his tongue as he clambered out of the pile. He raised his head to find his fellow archers, but they were not in sight. He remembered the whizzing and airy popping of the grenade and feared the worst. The thought made his head hurt.

Clint had little time to ponder on this as more grenades landed. He threw a fistful of dirt over it before darting away as fast as he could, drawing back the string of his bow and sending Chitauri swiftly to their death. The Chitauri jerked from the impact of the arrows before falling, dying and not yet hitting the ground. Rifle shots whisked far too closely to his flesh and he felt his skin prickle from the friction.

He didn't even know where he _was_ anymore. Pre-grenade, he was positioned with the north flank to take down the closest line of approaching Chitauri, but for all he knew, post-grenade could have sent him flying back a mile or so. In the end, it did not matter—killing Chitauri did not care at what location he did it, so long that it was done.

"Oh, dammit."

He saw the approaching gaggle of Chitauri, their guns held aimed at an unsuspecting group of Asgardians, tending to one of their wounded. Clint clenched his teeth before pulling his string back once—twice—thrice—watching as the Chitauri fell before they could even curl their long fingers around the trigger. The Asgardians did not even notice.

"Nicely done," said a voice.

Clint whipped around, pulling his string back before his eyes even landed on who was behind him. When the tip of the arrow nearly grazed the tip of Sif's nose the moment he turned around, he gulped and immediately diverted the arrow elsewhere and let it land on an unfortunate Chitauri. Sif gave him a grim smile, her lip busted and her eye swollen.

"You okay?" he said.

"I could be better," she said. "You do not look so well."

Clint had no idea what the grenade must have done to him, and figured he would be better off not knowing.

"Any news?" he said, continuing his faraway battle with the oncoming Chitauri. Sif whipped her sword to flick blood off the blade.

"The western flank has been vanquished, thanks to our insufferable princes," said Sif. "But the Chitauri are still numerous. Thanos has been spotted deeper within his ranks—I do not believe he intends to fight."

"Bastard," said Clint. Thanos must not have cared who remained victorious in this battle, so long as death claimed as many as possible and he took the credit.

"Heimdall keeps a watch on the other realms," said Sif. She took a breather to spar several Chitauri who tested their luck to step too close, and their necks were slit promptly. "Jotunheim still stands strong. The Chitauri's technology is not so effective against their ice. Vanaheim has to deal with the Kree, but she stands strong with her sorcerors. The other realms have less battle than us, as Asgard is Thanos' most anticipated show."

"And Earth?" said Clint.

Sif pulled a rifle from a dead Chitauri and cocked the weapon.

"Still safe," she said.

Clint nodded.

"How do you use this contraption?" Sif said.

"Whoa, don't hold it like that!" Clint said. Without missing a beat, he flipped the rifle over in Sif's hand so that it did not point straight to her chest and continued shooting his arrows at the enemy. "You pull the trigger. You aim and you press down on the button."

"Like this—?" She shot the rifle before she could even finish, the electric blue shot skewering a Chitauri in the knee immediately. It shrieked in pain before another shot silenced it permanently.

"Yeah, like that," Clint said breathlessly. "You're a fast learner."

"There is worth in having brains to fight with alongside brawn," said Sif. "Even if Asgard acts like it does not agree sometimes."

"Should agree to it all the time," said Clint. He took her wrist. "Come on, I don't like being out in the open like this." When she opened her mouth to protest he tugged her. "Like this, we'll be easy shots—sitting ducks. Come on!"

He pulled her away to behind an overturned stone for refuge. He heard her chuckle wryly behind him as he wiped his blood from his face and crept on all fours to look over the edge.

"Your friend did the same thing," said Sif. "The lady. You Midgardians have much trust in the backs of rocks."

"And you Asgardians have much trust in your flesh and bone," said Clint.

"I have tried to speak with the All-Father," said Sif, "about our tactics of war."

"And?" said Clint, shooting at a Chitauri. It was down before it even saw him.

"Even if we change our tactics, we have little ability to change what we fight with," said Sif. "Not everyone can bear bow and arrows or these—these firearms in a split second. Stealth is our only hope. Darkness cannot be, as the Chitauri are much accustomed to it and will be at the advantage. We are preparing catapults."

"Catapults? What are you, Middle-Earth?" said Clint. "What are you even going to launch?"

"Let's just say you and your friends may not have as many hiding spots as before."

Clint pressed himself against the stone, shooting another arrow. "Uncool."

Sif wiped her lips with the back of her gloved hand, her lips bloody and torn. Clint nodded to his hip, where a water canteen was attached.

"Take some," he said.

"Take some what?" said Sif.

"Water, come on! Take it before someone shoots right through it."

Sif hesitated before unhooking the canteen from Clint's belt and taking a sip so small that a raindrop could have had provided better sustenance.

"Don't give me that. Take as much as you want. I'm a camel."

"You are not," said Sif.

"Do you even know what a camel is around here?" said Clint.

Sif glared at him before taking a healthy swig and reattaching the canteen to his hip. She slunk near the opposite end of the stone and positioned her rifle. With a careful aim she shot at the oncoming Chitauri, turning on its machine gun mode without realizing. She gasped as the rifle spewed bullet after bullet without her control, felling as many as two Chitauri per second.

"What's it doing?" she said.

"It's going on rapid fire mode!" said Clint, pulling back his string and aiming at a Chitauri sergeant.

"How do I stop it?" she said.

"I don't know!"

She let out a yell of frustration before banging the rifle against the side of the rock. It sputtered and died in her hands.

"Better bury it barrel-first in case it acts up again," said Clint. Sif shoved it into the overturned soil and pulled her sword out of her scabbard.

"There must be something I can do," she said.

"I'll go ahead, shoot down whatever's the biggest threat, and you follow," said Clint. "Ready? Go!"

Before he could tell if Sif deigned to answer, he darted out of his place and aimed at whatever was reptilian and moved. Sif followed quickly after him, her sword finding its place through many Chitauri bodies as they moved to attack. Together, they were so opposite that they were nearly inseparable—Clint for distance and Sif for proximity, Clint for sight and Sif for sound, Clint for go and Sif for come.

He never thought of returning to his fellow archers, not when he fought with her. Battle was familiar, and frankly, less frightening with her. She took down what he missed, and he vanquished what could threaten them.

But days of endless fighting and sleepless nights wore them down, Clint more than Sif as his mortal body gave him little favors. Soon, thirst and fatigue would whittle him down, and he did not question where the water Sif fetched him came from, as she did not seem inclined to answer.

"How do mortals fight their battles?" said Sif as Clint fought to stay alert albeit his aching head.

"Foxholes or something," he said. "Except that's not the best way either."

It was difficult to see in the blackest point of night, especially when the moon was new and yet to be borne in the month and the stars, ashamed, hid their faces. All that could be seen were the magic cast by the miscellaneous sorceresses that remained in the battlefield and the lightning the Chitauri shot from their rifles, with the exception of Thor's blows. When the darkness was illuminated for that moment, Clint saw the carnage and the true horrors of battle—of bodies strewn on the fields with gaping eyes and mouths, twisted in angles unimaginable and bleeding from places unseen.

"Wanna know something?" he said under his breath, rubbing his eyes.

"What is it?" she said.

"I was never trained for war," said Clint. "This is nothing like New York City _or _Budapest. I'm sort of winging this as I go."

Sif chuckled. "I have absolutely no idea what you meant by the last two sentences."

Clint smiled in spite of himself, and realized he had something to smile about in the middle of a war. "I'll explain it all to you later. Midgardian slang and all."

"Clint."

"Yeah?"

Sif's voice was quiet and thin.

"Clint, I don't think we're with the others."

"The others? What others?"

"Other Asgardians," said Sif. "I think—I think we're near enemy lines."

Clint tried to ignore the creeping sensation of uneasiness in the back of his head.

"You don't know that for sure."

"I see no one."

"Hell, I can barely see _you_," said Clint. He felt a jolt of paranoia and turned sharply to the general direction of Sif. "Quick security question: the moment you saw Loki, what did you do?"

"What in the world are you going on about?"

"Just answer the question, please."

Sif made an impatient sound. "I spoke a word or two with him before striking him across the face, that arse of a prince. Why?"

Clint let out a sigh of relief. "Nothing."

"No, you will not keep secrets in the middle of a battle. What is it?"

"The last time I dealt firsthand with the Chitauri, they used their shapeshifting abilities to screw me over," said Clint. "I didn't want to think that they would disguise themselves as Asgardians and take us down from the inside. Or that you were—you know—actually a Chitauri."

"I'm insulted you even thought that of me," said Sif.

"Sorry," said Clint. He reached out and found her shoulder, gripping it tight. "Just…try not to leave my side right now, okay? I don't like saying I'm afraid of anything, but I'd be one hell of a liar if I said I was completely okay with the situation."

She put a hand on Clint's and squeezed it hearteningly.

"It's okay to be afraid," said Sif. "It's when your fear becomes despair do we have a problem."

There was a click, a snap, and they both stiffened. Clint only now remembered again Sif's premonition and felt his heart leap to his throat when he realized that she could very well be right. They did not know exactly where they wandered in the dark, and his sense of direction was muddled from lack of rest or food. They could be absolutely vulnerable and he still couldn't see a damn thing.

He heard Sif take a sharp intake of breath beside him and he realized that her hand had not left his.

"It came from behind us," she whispered.

He nodded even though she could not see him. They could not risk staying in the same place, especially if a scout would catch them.

"We've got to book it," said Clint. "I don't know where to though."

"Can we fight against them?" said Sif.

"Shh." The steps approached again and Clint held his breath. He silently drew back the string, feeling the arrow materialize between his fingers. He only heard one pair of footsteps—but to whom did they belong? Friend or foe?

"Let's get out of here," said Clint. "On the count of—"

But Clint had no time to answer before fire lit the night.

It was fire—but at the same time it was sound—a loud, tearing noise so condensed that it set a spark and melted. It painted the night fiery orange and the heat blasted him and Sif back, sending them sprawling on the grass. They barely had time to collect themselves onto their knees before rifle shots rained down on them, sending spurts of dirt flying around them. Clint immediately spun around and shot blindly.

"Go!" he said.

The Chitauri had not been shot—it raised its rifle at them and pulled the trigger, sending a volley of blue bullets of power toward their direction. Clint danced out of the way, trying to aim his handgun at the Chitauri. A bullet tore at his calf and he nearly fell. Another shot hit the gun out of his hand.

Before he could lift his bow, before he could even place his fingers against the string, the Chitauri's rifle was pointed straight at his chest.

And before the finishing strike could tear the life out of Clint's heart, a long and elegant sword pierced the Chitauri's stomach. The Chitauri sputtered, the rifle falling from its grasp as Sif's sword dug deep into its gut, before it fell back lifeless.

Clint let out a huge breath of relief, giddiness flooding his veins. He picked the handgun up from the ground and holstered it.

"Nice throw," he said to Sif. "Now let's—"

His eyes landed on Sif and he felt the blood drain from his face. She raised her head wearily to him, her hand over her chest drenched in her own blood. One of the Chitauri's shots landed right below her collarbones, shattering her bones and spilling her blood.

"Oh no…"

Clint fell to his knees before Sif, trying to stem the flow of blood with his own hand. She shook her head, her frame shaking uncontrollably as it began to fail to hold her upright.

"Don't, Clint," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Blood spilled from her lips.

"We've got to get you out of here," said Clint. "We've got to get you back, to a medic or a healer."

"Clint…"

Whatever Sif wanted to say, she had no strength left to tell him. She slumped to her side and Clint caught her immediately, his heart crying as he held her tight.

"Don't you give up, Sif," said Clint, his voice both firm and shaking. "I'm getting you back. I'm getting you help."

He shifted her onto his back, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel her blood already seep through his shirt. She cried out in frustration and pain, her limbs shaking around his neck, and that shook him enough to jump onto his feet and run—run to God knows where as long as it brought him _somewhere _and _away._

"We're going to get you to a medic on the field, okay?" said Clint, running to where he could see a glimmer of light. He knew in his heart that was where the healing tent was and he ran faster, faster than his sleep-deprived body could ever move. "We'll bum a healing stone off of them and get you patched up before getting you some real help. And it'll be okay. It'll be okay."

"Clint, Clint," Sif said, and Clint could barely hear her. Her voice was so small and choked with blood. "What if I—?"

"There's no 'what if,' you hear?" he said. "There's no 'what if' and I'm going to help you. God, let me save you!"

And he ran. Ran because for once it was not his life that depended on it. He did not run to kill another, or run to finish his job. He ran because someone needed it—he ran to save Sif's life.

The battle was ceaseless, and it destroyed. He did not think to move stealthily as he made his way back across enemy lines, because stealth meant waiting and waiting meant time he could not lose—that Sif could not lose. Not after she had saved him from death by Chitauri in the knick of time, not after she had comforted him and accompanied him for so long.

He tightened his grip on her, making sure she could not fall from his back as he ran, relishing in the feeling of her breathing against his back and the sound of it in his ear, as guttural as it was. When he crossed enemy borders, he celebrated not, because help was still long ahead, and he could barely see. Soldiers fought without knowing, without stopping to breathe, and how soon it would be until they could not!

He ran until he could not feel his own legs, until he was drenched.

He ran until the wind whistled in his ear louder than the gunshots, than the screams and cries, than the explosions.

He ran until his own breath died away and he could not see the candlelights of the healing tent when he finally reached it, or feel the hands that reached out to him when he passed through the flap.

But he took in a breath of relief when he entered the warm light, its brightness making his eyes sting with tears. The healers immediately led him to a cot for Sif, albeit it was still damp with the blood of its last occupant, and Clint was near collapse.

"Told you," he said, without enough breath to even raise his voice. "Told you, Sif. Told you I could make it."

He shifted her off of his sticky back and onto the cot as gently as possible. When he stood, he saw that no one was moving yet to bind her wound.

"Come on, let's go!" he said. He turned to Bruce and Frigga, with their shadowed, weary eyes and gray faces, and saw them frozen. "She got shot in the chest, she's badly hurt, we've got to—"

"Clint," said Bruce, and that was all he could say.

Clint breathed heavily, anger flooding his veins, before he looked down to Sif.

And he felt like nothing.

Her eyes were half-lidded as if drowsy, but nothing stirred underneath—no light, no life, not a glimmer. Vacant. Like dusty marbles. Her bloody lips still parted in her last breath. The gaping wound on her chest mocking and deathly, with no beating heart underneath.

Only now did Clint realize that the sweat on his back was truly red. Only now did he remember that amid the wind whistling in his ear, he heard no breath. That those shaking limbs had become eerily calm around his neck.

He felt so, so tired.

Frigga sank to her knees beside the cot, her face full of sorrow at the sight of the young woman she had watched grow from childhood lying dead before her. She cupped Sif's wan face for a moment before gently closing her eyes. Sif did not look asleep. Sif only looked dead.

Clint barely had the strength to breathe now, much less keep standing.

"Valhalla received a beautiful soul," Frigga whispered. She pressed a kiss on Sif's forehead, of a daughter that was nearly hers, of her sons' dear companion.

Clint felt everything fall around him, even himself as his knees met the ground sharply.

Sif was dead, and he did not even notice her go.

He felt so empty, so undeservingly alone.

Sif was dead, and soon he would rise to his feet again, brush away Bruce's concerned hands, and re-enter battle. Because Sif was dead, and the war did not stop for him. It never would.


	40. Chapter 40

**I hope that your week of no update still went well and that you guys did productive things with your lives~ I'm sorry for not replying to most people's reviews this past chapter; I had been away all week so I have been really busy. I still am super thankful and happy for each and every one of you for reading this ol' thing!**

**I am a little uncertain about whether or not there will be an update next week (frankly, the whole two-week updates isn't that bad). I know I will be going out of the country at one point in this month, but as for how that will affect my updates I still am not sure. So in general, check around on Mondays for updates and if I can update, I will. If not, you won't find one. **

**Thank you for reading everyone! I've waited a long time to publish this chapter.**

* * *

Steve couldn't stop the bleeding on his side. His uniform was torn and his flesh cut deeply, spilling blood between his fingers when he clasped his hand on the wound. He knew he needed a medic, a healing stone, something, but he had no time to think of this. Not when the war waged.

He couldn't remember how he received this wound. It could have been an hour ago; it could have been days ago. But it bled and he could barely keep his thoughts straight, now that every step shot pain through him and his own blood was not the only thing that covered him.

With the scraps of his strength left, he hurled the shield, watching it snap the spines of many Chitauri before spiraling into his hand. But the Chitauri were still plentiful and destructive, like locusts devouring Ancient Egypt, and Steve saw no end to this. A stalemate, for all they knew, or a Pyrrhic victory if they were lucky—he could not see the light beyond this.

The dead could not be hidden away. Steve could no longer try to look away anymore. He barely had the strength to keep his head raised.

His blood left trails behind.

"Cap!"

Tony's voice jarred him, even though Steve was so tired he could barely hear him. A metal hand roughly grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him until Steve had no choice but to lift his eyes. Tony was before him, a large gash across his nose and his suit more woebegone than the last time Steve saw him. Steve couldn't truly remember when or how exactly he and Tony separated in the war, but he remembered sleepless nights alone in the cold battlefield and could only guess.

"By Jove," Steve said, breathing heavily. "Never thought it'd be a good thing to see you again, Stark."

Tony's eyes fell on Steve's side and widened.

"Shit, that's not good," said Tony. "You're bleeding out. Why the hell didn't you do anything?"

"Can't exactly ask for a time out, can I?" said Steve. "Can't go to the Chitauri and say, hey, Steve Rogers has to call in sick, has to make a rain date for this war thing, and that he can make up his work afterward."

"Okay," said Tony. "It's when you get all snarky that I know you're in bad shape."

He pulled Steve's arm over his shoulders, supporting him as they stumbled through the bloody field. Steve couldn't suppress a groan of pain when the movement pulled at his already torn side.

"Medic!" said Tony. "We need a medic over here, and pronto!"

Steve wondered if there were any medics still alive. He couldn't recall seeing any; in fact, he couldn't recall if he ever knew what they looked like.

"Medic! I need a healing stone, some voodoo, anything!" said Tony. "We've got a melting Capcicle here and I need help!"

"Tony," said Steve. "Tony, just leave me. I'll get along, I promise. Just keep going, I'll be along."

"No," said Tony. "Hell no. I'm not leaving you. Medic! Medic, I need—_yes!_"

Steve's eyes were blurring with pain, but he could catch sight of a figure making its way toward them. Tony laid him on the ground and Steve winced when the pain heightened on his side. Unfamiliar and cold hands touched his sensitive skin and he flinched.

"Easy there, Cap," said Tony. "The doctor's a friend. Have you got a healing stone or anything?"

"Yes," said the medic. "Hold still—"

"Get down!"

Steve felt Tony and the medic fall to the ground around him, hands over their heads. He heard the roar of bullets coming far too close overhead and he too covered his head. If he closed his eyes and only listened, he could easily have been back to the war he grew up in, when he was only a kid from Brooklyn. Before he could control himself, he thought of Peggy and Bucky, and it wasn't only his side that hurt.

"Sons of bitches!" Tony sat back up and fired away at the Chitauri. His suit was running low on both ammunition and energy; it would only be a matter of time before his advantages were spent.

When the firing from the other side ceased, the healer continued his work. Steve felt the healing stones fall upon his wound, urging the pain to subside. He breathed a sigh of relief as his senses sharpened once the injury melted away, pushing himself back in a sitting position. He ran a hand over the now closed wound, his side slightly welted with a scar but otherwise all right.

"Thank you," he said.

"All in good shape?" said Tony. "Good. Let's get back to work."

Steve pulled himself onto his feet, giving a nod of farewell to the medic before following Tony back into battle. His shield protected him from the Chitauri's rifles, leaving him only long enough to knock down the enemy. The Chitauri fell, their necks broken, and moved no more.

"Do you know how the others are?" Steve said to Tony.

"Hell if I know," said Tony. "Point Break seems to be doing all right. I still see the lightning."

"You sure it's from his attacks and not him having a really bad day?" said Steve.

"Frankly, I don't see a difference," said Tony. He shot a bolt of fire from his metal palm, scalding the Chitauri. "Seriously, though, if Point Break got any bad news, there'd be a whole hurricane."

"I don't doubt it," Steve said. He ran forth, shield held aloft, and knocked down a line of Chitauri, slamming them down onto the ground and delivering the finishing blow to their necks.

"I see Natasha and Loki every now and then, so they've got to be all right," said Tony. "Bruce is with the healers, he has to be all right. The other guy's looking out for him, anyway."

"And Clint?" said Steve. "What about Clint?"

"I don't know," said Tony.

His eyes widened as they fell upon something arcing behind Steve. He immediately rushed forward, pushing Steve out of the way.

"Get out of there!" said Tony. He spoke to several Asgardians grouped together, preparing their charge. "You've got to get out of—"

Tony could not get the words out of his mouth quickly enough. His voice was immediately drowned out by the howl of a grenade that detonated at the Asgardian's feet. Steve did not even have time to close his eyes before the carnage burst in full bloom before him.

"Dammit," said Tony, and his voice was loud and hysterical. "God_dammit_!"

Only two of the Asgardians were left fully intact, and one of them was already dead. The other had a gaping, bloody hole in his stomach, his metal armor useless and his carefully sharpened helmet useless and the tears in his eyes useless. Steve and Tony rushed to the soldier's side.

"I've been hit," the young man said, wheezing. He squeezed his eyes shut, baring his teeth. "I don't want to die. Oh, Norns, please—don't let me die."

"Stay with me, okay?" said Steve, covering the wound.

The soldier's labored breathing was hard to ignore; Steve tried to pretend he could not feel the soldier's innards leaking out of the wound underneath his gloves. "We're going to get you help—don't look at it. Please don't look at it."

He tried to shield the young man's line of vision so that he could not see the cause of his own imminent death. Tony spun around on the spot, trying to find the healer that had aided them just moments ago.

"Tony, have you got anything on you?" said Steve.

Tony shook his head. His face was white beneath the dirt and blood. Steve swallowed hard and turned back to the young soldier, whose face was so gray he looked already dead.

"Help will come," Steve said, and his tongue felt heavy. "Please hold on a little longer. Help will come."

"Somebody!" said Tony. "Anybody!"

But no amount of screaming could bring a healer any faster to them. Not when everyone around them cried.

"We need more help here!" Tony said.

Steve gripped the young soldier tight, as if that could change anything.

"Please, somebody!" said Tony. "He's a _fucking child_ and he's dying!"

"Tony," Steve said, his voice no louder than a sigh. He stared into the young soldier's face, imploringly, resignedly.

"A healing stone, a painkiller, a miracle, anything!"

"Tony!" said Steve.

Tony turned back to Steve, to the soldier whose eyes were already blank and empty. Like a cracked doll whose head was hollow.

"He's already dead," said Steve, and his voice hurt his throat.

He could still hear the young soldier's last words—a plea for life that reality refused to grant. He looked still young enough to be a son, or a new husband, and Steve did not want to think of who would be left behind when blood was still wet and warm on his hands.

"This has to end," said Tony. His voice shook with fury and pain. "This—has—to—end."

A loud, ominous rumble shook the battlefield. Tony and Steve turned to see the cause of the distraction—the cause of the destruction.

Steve had never seen him before. Never even knew what he looked like. But when he saw the towering titan, as towering as the Hulk and sickly in color, he knew.

_Thanos._

"It's him," said Tony. His voice was low and dangerous. "It's that son of a bitch."

Thanos stood among his throng, not so close that Steve could see his face, but Steve could tell he was separate from the rest—that he was meant to lord over them, watch from a foppish theatre box as death spread itself over them. How his shoulders shook with laughter at the dying screams he found so comical, how he killed those around him with a mere wave of the hand, not even turning his head to see whether he killed friend or foe, if he had either.

Shivers crawled down Steve's back at the sight of him.

"Cap," said Tony. "On his breastplate. The bastard encrusted the Infinity Gems on his damn _breastplate_."

Steve would have missed it if Tony did not point it out, and now he could not look away from the gleaming, dangerously powerful Gems shining on the war titan's armor. He looked to Tony and sucked in a sharp breath.

"Tony, don't jump into this," said Steve. "You don't like making plans, but dealing with Thanos _needs_ one—"

"Thor wanted us to get that Reality Gem for him, didn't he?" said Tony. "I'm just going to fly over there and ask for it nicely, and Thanos will say something along the lines of, 'Over my dead body' and I will oblige."

"You're going to _die, _Tony," said Steve. "You're going to die if you do this by yourself."

Tony turned to Steve.

"Will you come with me?" said Tony.

Steve hesitated. He wanted to defeat Thanos—wanted to pummel him into defeat right here and right now, put an end to this war and to this destruction on all the Realms. His logic told him that not even he with his superhuman strength could stand a chance against Thanos, but at the sight of all the dead criss-crossing on the ground around them, he burned to fight Thanos, to keep him away from hurting any others.

"Yes," said Steve.

Tony gave a short nod before power his suit, rising from the ground. Without another word, he rocketed toward Thanos, burning power building up in his palms.

Steve followed, and never stopped to think back.

* * *

When Clint found Thor, Thor was a madman with a hammer. Tens of Chitauri fell at every swing of Mjölnir and Clint was nearly hit by the flying bodies that came his way. He dived out of the way, striking at those that evaded Thor's reach but taunted him with their rifles. They fell before they knew Clint was even there.

Thor spun around and caught sight of Clint, nodding in acknowledgement before flinging his hammer through the crowd, parting the crowd like the Red Sea colored by Chitauri blood. Clint fought alongside Thor and his other companions of the Warriors Three. Hogun's spiked mace was swift and formidable, Fandral's sword skewered all who came near, and Volstagg moved agilely for someone so bulky.

Clint couldn't shake off the feeling of missing someone. He gritted his teeth and fought back-to-back with Thor, only now realizing how very tall the god was.

"Thor, where's Loki?" said Clint.

Thor made another hefty swing before answering, his voice strained.

"I do not know," Thor said.

Despite the stress of war, Thor let himself be worried for the sake of his little brother. Clint couldn't help but wryly hope that for the Chitauri's sake none touched Loki else Thor would not hesitate to raise all nine circles of hell on them.

He looked upon the Warriors Three fighting with such powerful synergy together, like a bloody trinity, and his heart sank. They must have fought together for centuries, always watching each other's backs. Maybe they knew how lucky they were that none of them had fallen before. Maybe.

"We are changing our course," said Thor. "It matters not what path they take, so long as we stop them in their tracks. Keep them quarantined within the valley and our catapults and our powers will corner them."

"Thor," Clint said, and he immediately regretted opening his mouth. Thor turned to him expectantly and Clint's mouth felt dry.

"What is it, Barton?" said Clint.

He wished he could say nothing. He was barely saved when Fandral let out a yell.

"Thor—Thor, it is Thanos!"

Thor looked up immediately, his eyes landing on the war titan a good eight hundred yards away. Clint watched the emotions change on Thor's face—from horror to unquenchable fury. Clint knew there was no notion of mercy or ease in Thor when it came to Thanos. He could see the burning anger in Thor as the memories of what exactly Thanos did to Loki and the many promises Thor made to destroy Thanos in the most painful way possible flooded his mind.

"At ease, my prince," Fandral said, who probably also noted the growing fire in Thor's heart. "We cannot rush into this—"

"There is no planning, no tactic, no other way, Fandral," said Thor. His voice was uneasily calm. "To fight him—to fight him here and now—is the only way."

Immediately, Thor swung Mjölnir toward Thanos' direction until it lifted him off his feet and toward the war titan. Clint let out a derogatory shout before running after Thor, shooting his bow and arrow at any Chitauri he passed. The Warriors Three were hot at his heels, but none could match the speed that Thor moved as he approached his enemy.

"Thor!" said Clint, and he didn't know why he would shout. What could he say? What could he do, when nothing could come between Thor and his revenge?

He could see Tony in his suit flying toward Thanos as well and he ran faster.

Thor's hammer met Thanos's fist as it flew toward his direction, knocking Thor out of the air and into the ground. Clint felt himself yell Thor's name, but he couldn't hear himself before shooting at Thanos. The arrows were nothing but matchsticks against his skin.

"Thanos!" Thor was on his feet as if nothing hurt him, hammer ready in hand. His voice was that of the thunder he conjured. "You will pay today—for the horrors you've wreaked on my home and people, for the threat you make to all the Nine Realms, for the nightmares you plagued my brother with. For everything!"

Thanos motioned for the surrounding Chitauri to back away, breathing a laugh that rumbled like breaking mountains.

"Asgard's prince," said Thanos. "How fitting that I meet you here."

Thor threw his hammer at Thanos before Thanos could squeeze in another word. It threw Thanos off balance, but before the hammer could return to Thor's grasp, Thanos thrust his fist at Thor, sending a force-field projection that launched Thor and Mjölnir flying back into the crowd. Thor landed heavily on his back, teeth gritted in pain; Mjölnir was chucked out of sight.

Immediately, Tony shot at Thanos, bursts of dangerous fire aimed to sear the titan's skin. Tony only managed to catch Thanos' arm before Thanos too swung his weapon at him, slamming Tony onto the ground.

_Nothing fazes the guy, _thought Clint, itching for his explosive arrows. He barely had time to check if Tony or Thor were all right before pulling out the Chitauri rifle and shooting at Thanos. The shots didn't do so much as scrape Thanos' skin before an invisible force knocked Clint off his feet and the air out of his lungs.

_He's invincible. _Clint's mindpanicked in the midst of the pain in his head and back. _He's invincible, nothing we can do can stop him, nothing—_

And yet he pushed himself off the ground and scrambled to grab the rifle, aiming for Thanos' eyes. Thanos growled as the bullets ripped his cheek and forehead before giving a loud, mirthful laugh.

"How resilient you are," he said. "Like insects to be trodden upon. Ants never stand a chance against the boot."

Clint couldn't explain why the surge of anger in him rose so greatly.

"You motherfucker," said Clint.

He pulled back the string of his bow once—twice—three times, three arrows at his fingers, before releasing them at Thanos' face. Thanos batted them aside like moths, but one found its mark at his jaw. Blood dripped and Thanos snarled, but Clint had no time to relish in his victory. He ran around Thanos and leapt onto his back, keeping a firm grip on Thanos' armor so he would not fly off.

Steve immediately caused a diversion, slinging his shield at Thanos's knees. They made contact, forcing him to buckle, but his bones remained steady and strong. Clint pulled back an arrow and shot it at the back of Thanos' neck.

And he be damned if the arrow did not bounce pathetically off of Thanos' nape with as much damage as a pebble.

Clint barely had time to register the shock before he was flung roughly off of Thanos' back and thrown into Thor. The two men tumbled on the ground, every muscle and bone aching in their battered bodies.

"Oh, this is exciting," Thanos said, smiling with as much politeness as a savage. "Lady Death always enjoyed the taste of rarer dishes."

"Thor, where the hell is your hammer?" said Clint, pulling himself off of Thor. "Get your damn hammer!"

Thor clambered onto his feet and recalled Mjölnir. After a delay, the hammer soared into Thor's grasp.

"Check on Stark, Clint," said Thor. "I will deal with this monster."

"You cannot focus all your attention on Thanos and not the Chitauri," said Volstagg. "He is not the answer to ending the war."

"Yes he is," Clint said, his voice low.

"What?" said Thor. "What do you mean?"

Clint remembered a white, metallic room and a hook swinging on a chain from the ceiling. He remembered inky, poisonous words and a growing fear.

"The Chitauri had dedicated their lives to Thanos, to serve him," said Clint. "They live for him—it's like the mothership. That's what Gath had said. Their lives are bound to Thanos. Kill Thanos, the Chitauri will have nothing, and they'll be over."

"Then it is clear what I must do," said Thor.

"Thor. _Thor,_" said Clint. "You can't beat him. Not alone."

"I will not be alone," said Thor. "You and the others will fight alongside me, and the Warriors Three. Go forth and find Odin, find Loki, find Natasha, find Sif, find everyone to aid us in this fight."

"Thor, Sif's _dead_."

The words escaped Clint's lips before he could stop himself. He felt the blood drain from his face when he realized what he had admitted, and he could not bring himself to look at Thor. Thor breathed heavily beside him, and the Warriors Three were stunned into silence that made Clint's blood run cold.

"You do not lie," said Thor, and that was all he could manage to say.

"I'm sorry, Thor," said Clint.

He pushed his way away from Thor, rushing back to Thanos with his rifle and bow at the ready. They were nothing compared to Thanos' strength and resilience, but there was nothing else he could do.

Nothing else he could do.

* * *

Natasha fought to breathe. Each breath was like swallowing fire; her throat screamed for water, for rest, for anything, and her lungs withered.

She lifted her head. She was on all fours, her arms shaking underneath her weight. She could tell that her ankle was twisted or sprained or broken cleanly off or _something _because it could barely support her. But she could not think of this, not when she had to push herself off of the ground and continue fighting.

The nearest Chitauri had its neck broken immediately when she lunged at it, snapping its head back with a hit on the chin with her palm. She twisted the rifle out of its grasp and shot it until it ran out of bullets before chucking it at the nearest enemy and trying again. She did not fight alone—she was with an anonymous platoon of Asgardians, but their numbers were dwindling, whether because of casualties or because they kept losing one another in the crowd.

But her attention was not spent. She could see the crowding of Chitauri near them, how their attention was diverted to something unseen. Even though there were fewer Chitauri to fight, they were as fiery and violent as ever, and the sight of them conglomerating like vultures perturbed her.

"Tyr!" she said.

Tyr, the officer she met only hours beforehand and now had to trust her life with, turned to her. One of his eyes had been blown out of its socket, leaving a gaping hole that reminded Natasha too much of Fury and of Odin.

"There's movement stirring in the east," said Natasha. "Something's going on there—something big."

"Will you scout out there for me?" said Tyr.

"I—"

She had no time to answer when a bullet skimmed her neck, barely missing her chin. She gasped and spun around, firing away with her handgun at the offender. The Chitauri crumpled immediately and she turned back, her answer ready on her lips, before she saw with horror that while the bullet failed to take her, it sank into Tyr's leg. He fell onto one knee, teeth bared in pain.

She rushed back as her fellow warriors gathered around him. He waved them away vigorously, eyes wild.

"Don't gather, it attracts their fire!" said Tyr.

The others backed away, but Natasha lingered. The wound was bleeding steadily, and she feared that it may have hit his main vein by the knee.

"You need to get help," said Natasha.

"Leave me, all of you," said Tyr. "You will not help Asgard by trying to tend to me."

She hesitated, knowing that he spoke truthfully, but how was she supposed to leave him behind, especially if he may bleed to death or be targeted by Chitauri sooner?

"You all go ahead of me!" she said to the other Asgardians. "I'll be along. Go!"

"Do not be a fool, Agent Romanoff," said Tyr.

"I'm not just going to leave you, for goodness' sake," said Natasha. She turned back to her comrades. "Go and fight!"

The Asgardians hesitated, unsure whether it was in their duty to follow the orders of a mortal, but one glare from Natasha sent them running to the east. She centered her attention on the hope that they all will still be able to walk when this was over.

"You are disobeying my express command," Tyr said through pained, gritted teeth.

"Well, it's a good thing I don't actually work for you, isn't it?" said Natasha.

She stood behind Tyr and grabbed him from underneath the arms, dragging him further from the heat of the battle. He groaned, his hurt leg leaving a trail of blood. She cursed before setting him back down, rushing to the side of a fallen warrior and ripping off their cloak.

"What are you doing?" said Tyr, eyes widened with horror as Natasha ripped the cloak into strips and bound his wound tightly. "That is dishonorable. That is—that is blasphemy."

"I don't see the dead guy objecting," said Natasha, finishing the knot. "Neither should you."

A howl in the air called her attention overhead and she gasped. Thor flew through the air, straight to the gathering crowd, with Tony coming from the other side soon after. Whatever was coming—she knew was wicked.

"Leave me be, Agent Romanoff," said Tyr. "You will be easily killed if you stay tending to me."

"You have a wife back home, waiting in the caverns, don't you?" said Natasha. Tyr's eyes widened and she raised her voice. "You've got a wife and you've got kids—you've got a _family _who want nothing more than for you to go back to them. Think about them waiting for you and _say those words again."_

Tyr said nothing, his face gray and pained. Natasha looked around, trying to find some sort of foxhole or crevice in the ground to hide him. The best she could find was a pile of fallen, splintered trees at the edge of the half-decimated forest.

But before she could bring Tyr toward that direction, many shots rang behind her. She dived out of the way, whipping out her handgun and aiming at the oncoming Chitauri. There were so many, and her bullets could only do so much before it sputtered and choked in her hand, empty of its power. She cursed and chucked it toward their direction, searching wildly for another weapon.

"Run!" Tyr said. He was half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, very white from the injury. "Get yourself away from here!"

The offer was logical—she could easily slip away from the Chitauri's attention, and they would feast their bloodthirst on one already fallen. But it never crossed her mind as tempting. With the threat she made to Tyr, she had made a promise—she would see his protection to the end, for the families waiting to hold him, for the lives needing to be saved.

She shielded Tyr with her body, tugging his sword from his scabbard and fighting off the Chitauri with it. It was heavy and unfamiliar in her hands, but each swing combated the Chitauri's rifles, and it was more than she could ask for.

The Chitauri cackled at her, joining her dance and fencing with her with their rifles as if this was nothing but a game. She growled before knocking one of the Chitauri to his knees, swinging her leg until her foot connected with the side of his head and she stomped down hard, snapping his neck. Before the others could react, she ran the sword through another's throat.

"Stay away from him!" Natasha said as the Chitauri advanced toward the officer. "I said get away!"

"Pretty little lady says not to touch him," said one of the Chitauri, leering at her. "Is the little wench in love? Is that what fuels her protection?"

"You sick bastard," said Natasha.

She kicked the rifle out of its grip and caughtit with her other hand, spinning around quickly so that the sword would arc and slice across the Chitauri's chest.

Before she could catch her breath, she was violently knocked down, both the sword and rifle loosened from her grip as she flew back several feet, crashing against the freshly snapped trees. Her back burned with pain and stars spun in her eyes.

The Chitauri stepped forward, rifle aimed at Tyr, and she moved without thinking.

Her hand found the hammer's handle before her eyes knew it was there among the debris.

Her arm swung the hammer and she let go before she understood what to do with it.

The hammer flew leagues she never thought were possible until they slammed against the Chitauri, knocking them down in a swift blow before they could touch the officer. They toppled like block towers, shattered bones and all, and the hammer skidded on the ground and spat soil. She rushed back to Tyr, pulling him into the hiding place and ignoring his incoherent sputters.

"What was it that you just did?" said Tyr.

"Which part?" she said with a grunt. She looked around, making sure none had seen her hide Tyr in safety.

She caught sight of him, and her heart nearly stopped.

Loki.

She saw him running toward the tumultuous crowd—only the back of him, and she saw how he limped. Saw how he bled.

Her heart leapt to her throat and his name was already on her lips.

And she saw—farther off, within the crowd, the source of the melee: Thanos.

_Loki._

"I will be safe here," said Tyr.

She turned back feverishly toward him. He nodded shortly.

"Go," he said. "The wound is stemmed. I will be all right. Go."

She nodded and searched for Loki again. He had already vanished, without even a trail of blood behind him.

And with that, she ran for him.

(She did not notice Mjölnir skyrocket in the same direction overhead)

* * *

Loki couldn't feel his ankle; it was angrily swollen after he wrenched it out from underneath the debris that had pinned him down. He already felt his own energy running thin and squashed the magical impulse to heal his wound. The moans of the agonized dying battered his eardrums.

He pulled himself onto his knees, gasping for air as he forced himself to stand. His leg wobbled dangerously underneath him and he collapsed again. He yelled a curse before taking in a deep breath and forcing himself onto his feet again. He limped heavily, knives already in hand as Chitauri approached him. He thought he might recognize them and it struck him deeply.

One of them opened their mouth to speak—or was it to take a breath? It mattered not, because the dagger flew from Loki's fingers and straight into its throat. The others stood no chance before Loki's daggers sank into their chests and they fell as easily as fragile mortals. Loki could no longer tell if he recognized them and he tried not to look down when he passed them.

He fought—and fought—and fought—and how was it that he was always fighting and never living? That no one was ever living, and soon he could no longer tell the difference between the Chitauri corpses at his feet from the Asgardians?

He was so, so tired.

His strained magic made his hands shake, but he could not risk this show of weakness as he conjured daggers in his hand and attacked the Chitauri. They died quickly and without knowing what hit them—far from what his past self would have craved in vengeance, far from the fate that Gath faced long ago. When their blood drenched Loki's hands, he tried not to breathe and smell its stench.

One Chitauri flung its arm out in a last attempt of life before dying. It slammed against Loki's chest and it was enough to knock him off his feet, landing roughly on his back against the grassy knoll. He coughed, tasting blood in the back of his throat.

"Loki!"

He barely raised his head up a millimeter, but he could see a familiar figure running to his side, dodging the attacks. He wished he could yell out, to say, get away, this isn't safe, but his breath ran thin.

Bruce knelt by Loki's side, a messenger bag of healing supplies at his shoulders. He checked wildly around Loki's body for any dire wounds, but Loki waved Bruce away, pushing himself up by the elbows.

"Where is your green friend when we need him?" said Loki.

"I have some control over the other guy," Bruce said, though Loki could see the green blush against Bruce's skin. "And I think you need Bruce Banner right now more than the Hulk."

"Debatable," said Loki.

Bruce pulled out a small healing stone from his bag. "Your ankle's banged up. I've only got minor healing stones on me. It won't fix the bone, but it might keep it set so it won't get in a terrible angle."

He crushed the stone in his palm and sprinkled its residue on Loki's purpling ankle. Loki laid his head back as he felt the stone work its magic, knitting the bones loosely together in its proper place, but it was far from healed. He nodded his thanks to the doctor, trying to keep his breathing steady.

"You look awful," said Bruce.

"Believe me," said Loki, "I am usually much better than this during battle."

He clenched and unclenched his metallic hand, trying to time his breathing with that of this mind-consuming pattern. How far the Gem has dragged him down, that it would reduce him to this in the time of dire need!

"You should be in the tents," said Loki.

"I switched out with some other medics," said Bruce. "I couldn't stand not being out here with the rest of you guys."

"But you can get killed," said Loki. What happened to Bruce being the sensible one of their little dysfunctional family?

"I think we both know how hard it is for me to get killed," said Bruce. "With the Other Guy and all."

"You two may share the same body, but not the same strength," said Loki.

"My life depends on his, in a way," said Bruce, rubbing the healing stone's dust on Loki's ankle. Loki suppressed a wince. "And his depends on mine."

"I don't see why it should," said Loki. "He does a better job protecting, honestly."

"Maybe he does, and maybe that's why I'm still alive out here," said Bruce. "Stop moving." Loki ceased his squirming underneath Bruce's hand. "He kept me from dying after getting shot in the mouth and falling a couple hundred feet. I guess this is nothing."

"His strength floods into your own?" said Loki.

"And my weakness floods into his, so it's an even deal," said Bruce.

Loki felt his heart nearly stop.

"What?"

Bruce looked up to Loki. "The Hulk isn't _invincible, _even though he damn well seems like it," said Bruce. "Sure, he spits out bullets, but the more I age, so does he. When I croak, he's coming with me. When I get ill, he's out of order. It's a balance of sort."

Loki could barely breathe.

"Sharing the same body makes you stronger, yet him weaker," he said, his voice low.

"It does," said Bruce. He frowned at Loki's paling face. "Loki, you—"

"Doctor," said Loki.

He scrambled back onto his feet, breathing so heavily that he could be close to hyperventilating.

Of course—of course—this was what must be done. Thanos was strong, Thanos was nearly invincible—this Loki knew for a long time, since The Other swore to Loki that he would know something as sweet as pain. Thanos could not be beat, no matter what powers Asgard could wield.

Not unless—

Loki ran—ran even though his ankle was wrung in pain and though his weakness grew heavier and heavier. Good—good, let him be weak. Let him be fatigued. Let him be vulnerable.

He could hear Bruce shouting his name behind him, and he only ran faster. He could see Thanos in the distance, see him battling his friends and his brother, and his heart beat wildly, as if it knew exactly what was on Loki's mind and reacted too instinctively, too desperately, as if it did not know whether to fight or fly.

He tried not to think of anything else, to remember anything else—because he could not afford to falter. He could not afford to stop. Asgard depended on this. The entire Nine Realms depended on this.

(He thought of Thor's hopeful face when he spoke of the Reality Gem, of the possibility that Thor clung to, and he pushed the thought away, because an aching heart could not help him now)

Loki pushed aside his fellow soldiers, taking in deep breaths as he drew closer and closer to the creature that made fear pulse through his every vein. He could remember how it felt to be underneath Thanos, to be bent and twisted to Thanos' will, to wish his existence erased because of Thanos, and he ran toward him.

He was afraid—afraid—afraid, but he ran because he _must._

And when he came, when he ran until he stood before Thanos, until he looked at his worst fears straight in the face, until he could no longer feel his heart beat—he knew he must be alone.

With Thor by his side, with Tony and Steve and Clint by his side, with Bruce at his tail, and with Natasha behind him—he must be alone.

Thanos ceased in his fighting—and for a moment, it felt as if time stopped.

Loki could hear Thor cry out his name.

Thanos looked down on Loki, pale eyes studying Loki's weakened form, before his face lit with a terrible smile.

"Laufeyson," said Thanos.

Loki was not shaking, and wondered if it was whether because he could no longer be afraid, or if because he had no energy left to do so.

"I was wondering when you would come to me," said Thanos.

Loki felt Thor reach out for him, to grab him and pull him behind, but Loki pulled away. This was his fight. This was his choice.

"End this, Thanos," Loki said. "You will not get what you want."

He knew it was hopeless, knew it was nothing—but he had to try. _He had to try._

"Your head is empty," said Thanos. "You know nothing about what will come."

"I do," said Loki, his body growing cold. "I know this is for your Lady Death. This is for your want of her. I know. I suffered because of your love for Death."

"Loki, get back!"

Natasha's voice broke Loki's heart, but it also strengthened his will. He must. He must. He must.

"End this, Thanos, because Death will not come to you this way," said Loki. "You will destroy worlds, you will destroy lives and beings, but you will not win. You will not win Death. Don't you see?"

Thanos' smile slipped from his face, leaving its residue on stony fury. Thanos did not stand so much taller than Loki, more or less the same height as the Hulk, yet to Loki he was a mountain—a volcano.

"You love Death because Death is fair to everyone—Death does not discriminate anyone," Loki said. "Or does it? You kill in hopes to gain favor of Death, but you in all your invulnerability and immortality can never be with her."

"Silence," said Thanos, his voice reverberating with vehemence. "_Silence!_"

Loki could barely breathe or stand up straight, but he refused to back down.

"You love Death because it is equal to all, and you don't know what that is like in real life," said Loki. "All your life, in all of your powers and glory, you knew no one and no one knew you. Your life is empty, so you crave Death. You love Death because you are _alone_."

Thanos did not move a muscle, nor did he make a sound. Loki breathed heavily, refusing to take his eyes off of Thanos. He felt his entire body shudder, and he knew that there was little time left to waste.

"Must you be?" breathed Loki.

He wished that it were true. He wished that it could be this easy, and even though he extended the hand, extended the chance, in his heart he knew Thanos would not take it.

But wasn't that what Earth's mightiest heroes once thought of himself?

He took a step forward and heard Thanos growl like a beast. He held out a hand and tried to forget how his fingers shook and how the corner of his eyes burned. Each breath was labored as it suppressed a cry.

"End this, Thanos," said Loki. "And with it, end everything—your loneliness, your brokenness, all of it."

His hand was still outstretched when Thanos' sword came flying toward him.

* * *

Natasha screamed—she could not help it.

Loki stood—vulnerable, open-hearted—and Thanos' weapon moved to run him through, and Natasha couldn't run forth and push Loki out of the way.

And her heart would have failed her—failed her in that very second—had Thor not bent to his will and shoved Loki out of the way, combating Thanos' sword with Mjölnir.

The clang of metal was loud and painful as Thor tried to beat down on Thanos, but Mjölnir could not strike Thanos' skin as Thanos parried every blow. Loki gathered his powers at his fingertips and shot it toward the war titan, knocking against his stomach until Thanos stumbled back. The surrender and hopefulness in Loki gave way to a face of pained determination, and Natasha wished he could just look at her—look at her so she could reassure herself that he was alive and well.

"Pin him down!" Loki said to Thor. "You must pin him down!"

"Make him stay down first!" Thor said.

Loki dodged one of Thanos' blow and Natasha dived to the ground to avoid it herself. She wanted to help—she _needed _to help—but she had absolutely no weapons on her, no strength to stand a chance against Thanos, nothing.

Loki drove a dagger behind Thanos' knee, forcing the war titan down on one leg. Thanos hissed in pain and slashed at Loki, barely catching his arm. Thor pummeled Thanos's head over and over again with Mjölnir, as if determined to reduce his skull into dough. Thanos struck Thor, sending Thor sprawled on his back upon the ground.

"Thor!" Loki said, eyes wide and wild.

With one shove of painful magic, Loki slammed Thanos down onto both knees. Loki tore away from Thanos to Thor's side, helping his older brother back onto his feet.

Before Loki could even touch Thor, his body jerked and fell, yelling in agony. His hand clutched at the arc reactor on his chest, eyes flashing between green and blue as Thanos enslaved the Mind Gem in his chest.

"No!"

Natasha ran toward the two brothers, pulling Thor to his feet and dragging Loki's hand away from the arc reactor before he could claw it out and lose all sense and control. His body convulsed in pain as the arc reactor fought Thanos' influence, eyes gaping for light as he choked for air.

With a roar that rivaled his thunder, Thor flung Mjölnir squarely on Thanos' chest. Thanos slammed onto the ground on his back; immediately his concentration on the Mind Gem broke and Loki collapsed in release, drawing air desperately. He clambered onto his feet, still clammy, still shaking, and pushed Natasha away from him before she could say his name.

Thanos howled; Mjölnir planted itself firmly upon Thanos' chest, and no amount of energy or power could make Thanos worthy enough to lift the hammer from his body. Thor and Loki climbed upon Thanos' chest and for a moment Natasha could breathe freely again—a flit of jubilation flooded her nerves before she remembered that Thanos was not yet defeated, not entirely.

"Take the Reality Gem, brother," Thor said, breathing heavily. "Upon Thanos' armor. We must save you first."

The Reality Gem gleamed a sickly gold upon Thanos' armor, to be plucked and claimed like fruit—but Loki had no eyes for it. Instead, Loki's eyes rested on Thanos' contorted face, chest rising and falling too quickly to be calm.

"Brother?" Thor said.

Loki closed his eyes.

"Forgive me," said Loki.

He swiped his arm at Thor and with a burst of power, sent Thor flying yards back.

Thor crashed onto the ground, nearly knocking down Bruce and Clint in the process. Before Thor could gather himself to his feet or before Natasha could run forward, Loki cast a powerful force field around him, barring anyone from coming closer. Natasha tried to run forth, but she was met by a hazy golden barrier that was as clear as gas and as solid as glass. She banged her fist against it, screaming Loki's name.

Loki fell to his knees on Thanos' chest, pulling away his own armor at his chest.

"_NO_!" cried Tony.

Loki wrenched away the arc reactor, throwing it aside. Natasha's heart pounded and she felt like vomiting.

_Loki, please—Loki, stop—LOKI!_

The blue illuminated scars crept upon his chest as Loki pulled down the collar of his tunic, stretching farther and farther like a plague.

No amount of banging or screaming weakened the barrier, and Natasha could only watch.

Watch as Loki grasped Thanos' hand and pressed it against the Mind Gem in his chest.

Watch as Loki's slight body jerked and shuddered from the effects of the Mind Gem, as Thanos writhed underneath stubborn Mjölnir.

Watch as slowly, but surely, Loki and Thanos' mind and life became one.

And as Loki took his other hand, despite Thanos' screeches and buckling as his body weakened from his connection with Loki's fading life, and gathered his most potent powers, Natasha felt the world stop around her.

Time stopped.

Sound stopped.

Lungs stopped.

In one swift motion, Loki reaped his magic—every ounce of magic he saved for this—and directed it to Thanos.

And in a moment of denial, of shock, Natasha realized just how _powerful _Loki was—how his magic poured from his hand into Thanos' chest and tore the life out of him, battered his body until it failed, destroyed him, how it shed a light about them that almost made it look beautiful. Thanos, rendered weak, was vulnerable, was _dying_ by Loki's hand, by his magic, by the last drop of his strength. And as the magic ripped through Thanos, it destroyed Loki.

She thought she could hear the magic so powerful that it howled, but she couldn't tell from over her own screaming.

Because she saw it. She saw Loki dying. She saw that by ending Thanos' life with the Mind Gem's connection, Loki had to end his own. That there was no escape, no trick to fall for, nothing.

She almost missed it. She could hear it, as clear and clean as a gunshot. The crack, the shatter, the crumbling of glass. Loki's magic was to its greatest power, at every bit of strength he mustered, that it shattered the Mind Gem in his chest, finally obliterating the curse that had tortured him all this time and ending the Infinity Gauntlet's full potential.

The Gem shattered, and the bond between Loki and Thanos broke, but it mattered not, for Thanos lay unmoving underneath Mjölnir, eyes unseeing—dead.

The Chitauri must have fallen around her, the source of their power destroyed.

But Loki…

Loki still knelt upon Thanos, head hanging low, hands limply at his sides. The force field flickered between them and him and died, and immediately afterward he fell sideways, slumping onto the bloodstained ground in an unmoving heap.

Thor had reached Loki first. He ran to his little brother the moment the invisible barrier fell, Loki's name fresh on his lips. He pulled Loki's limp figure away from Thanos' dead body and into his arms, cradling the very broken and very fragile form. Loki's face was so white that it burned Natasha's eyes to look at it, and it was a miracle that thin breaths still escaped his bloodless lips. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, the light already slipping away from them.

Thor held Loki tight, sobbing, begging. Loki did not even have the strength to raise his head.

"Oh Thor," Loki whispered.

He closed his eyes and with one last sigh, his body shuddered and fell still.


	41. Chapter 41

**...I am so sorry door the long gap between updates. The hiatus took a little longer than I expected. Please forgive me ;w;**

**In other news, Brazil was beautifully wonderful and I'm going to miss my friend who lives there bunches, but the summer most go on! As much as I said that Syrgja ought to be my last fanfiction, I do have some oneshots/bookstore AU plots brewing insistingly in my head. I would probably post them on AO3 if they come to be anything. **

**Not that this is the last chapter; there's still one more after this. So please stay tuned everyone, and enjoy!**

* * *

_"Hope fades_  
_Into the world of night_  
_Through shadows falling_  
_Out of memory and time_  
_Don't say_  
_We have come now to the end_  
_White shores are calling_  
_You and I will meet again_

_And you'll be here in my arms_  
_Just sleeping…"_

—_"Into the West"_

The war was won and the world had ended, so why did Natasha still feel, still breathe, still see?

She didn't know exactly if she consciously made to approach Thor, if she moved by choice or by need, but she kneeled beside him as he held Loki in his arms. Loki, who did not move, did not breathe, did not open his eyes.

"Loki, please," Thor said. Tears streamed down his face, carving clean trails down the grime and blood. "My brother, my little brother, please, don't go, please…"

Each breath Natasha took hurt her chest and she couldn't stop shaking. She felt someone kneel beside her, stand behind her, but she couldn't tell who they were. She could not take her eyes off of Loki's ashen face and his beaten chest that did not rise.

She thought of how dangerously close his lips came to hers that night in the waters and realized how he must have known for a long time that he would not live.

"Loki," she whispered. His name felt so soft, so painful on her tongue.

No amount of begging could restore breath and she knew that—her entire life had been surrounded by death. But she couldn't help it—she was a child at prayer with the basest sentimentality. That someone, something, anything would have mercy.

"Loki, don't leave us," Natasha said, and her throat swelled. She cupped his thin face, resting her forehead on his. She choked, trying to fight back the sobs that wracked her lungs. "Oh, dear God, please don't leave us. Don't leave us like this—don't take him away. Dear God, don't take him away."

Thor wept silently, his arms shaking as they held Loki with no strength left in them. Natasha lifted her head, half-expecting a miracle, that she would look upon Loki's face again and see those mischievous green eyes twinkling and a witty quip on his lips. But there was nothing in his face. The windows to emotion were now broken and dark, revealing nothing—windows that led to walls.

"Goddammit," said Clint. "Put him down, Thor."

"You—" said Thor.

"_I said put him down!_"

Thor stared at Clint, blue eyes raw and shining. He hugged Loki closer to him, as if afraid that if he let go of Loki, the truth would crash down on him—that he would lose his little brother forever, that Loki was already gone. Clint brusquely pulled Loki out of Thor's arms and onto the ground, and Natasha could see how Clint quaked as if too cold.

When Loki lay flat on the ground, Clint placed both hands clasped on Loki's still chest and pumped up and down. Natasha's eyes seared with tears and she shook her head mutely, clenching her teeth to keep away the cries.

"Clint—" started Steve, but Clint ignored him, trying to revive Loki. Trying to keep his heart pumping, to find a miracle.

"Come on, Loki," Clint said, his voice strained. Over and over again, he would not stop pressing his fist into Loki's chest. Loki showed no sign of change, as lifeless as ever. "_Come on, Loki!_"

"Clint, stop," said Tony, and the sound of Tony's voice strangled with tears made Natasha want to scream. "Clint—it won't work. Just _stop_."

"God_dammit_, Loki!" said Clint. He was pushing nearly his entire body weight against Loki, against that beatless heart. "Wake up, you bastard! You can't leave us like this, after all—we've—been—through!"

Thor couldn't watch anymore—couldn't watch his brother's face empty of pain and expression and emotion, couldn't watch Clint cling to the last strand of hope that was long lost. He rose from the ground and backed away, eyes blinded by tears as he stumbled beyond them, trying to find himself in his loss. Mjölnir lay useless at his feet, powerful against all foes except death. Thor reached down to lift it, but no matter how much he tried he could not lift his hammer. His grief was too heavy to overcome, and he let out a terrible sob.

"You have to wake up, Loki!" Clint said. Up and down, up and down, and yet Loki still did not breathe, his heart did not beat. "Are you just going to leave us? Going to leave your family, going to leave Thor—_going to leave Natasha_?"

Natasha let out a sob and she tried to hide her tears in her hand. She felt Bruce wrap his arm around her shoulders and she couldn't breathe.

"She loves you! And we all know you love her, okay? And you're just going to leave her like this?" Clint said. He was screaming now, his face wet with his own tears. "_You're just going to leave her, you sick bastard?_"

Clint punched Loki's chest, trying to push the blood out of Loki's heart and throughout his veins in an attempt to keep him alive. Each blow barely made Loki's body jerk and Clint gasped for breath amid his cries each time. Finally, he nearly collapsed, his hand lying in defeat upon Loki's motionless chest and his shoulders shaking.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he said, and even he couldn't keep the tears from his voice. "This was never supposed to happen."

Natasha lifted her head from her trembling hand, her head and heart hurting tremendously. They had won the war—they had saved Earth and kept the Nine Realms from being destroyed, so why had they lost? Why did she have to give up everything?

Her eyes fell upon Clint's hand prone against Loki's chest and her eyes stung.

They must have been stinging, half-glazed with tears, because what she saw couldn't have been possible.

She pulled away from Bruce, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand—again—again. But it still remained, still curled around Clint's fingers like twine.

Electric blue twine.

"Clint," she whispered.

Clint looked up at her, and then followed her gaze to his hand. He nearly pulled his hand away in panic, but kept it firmly planted on Loki's chest. The Mind Gem's powers were faint, brittle, but still present, tying Clint tentatively to Loki with as much solidity as balloon string.

"Oh God," Clint said.

"What is it?" said Steve.

Clint looked up, eyes wide.

"I feel the change," said Clint. "I feel my energy leaving me. It's going to him."

Thor turned sharply toward Clint, face pale with disbelief.

"How is that possible?" said Thor. "The Mind Gem—it shattered. It broke, and it would have faded by now."

"There must be a piece left still working," Tony said, voice shaking. "And Loki still has a chance if Clint is linked to _something_."

Without hesitation, Natasha placed her hand next to Clint's on Loki's chest. Soon after, soft blue curls of energy tied around her fingers like rings and she felt the cool rush of energy flow through her arm. Thor slid his hand next to hers, face set in determination. She had no idea how close to absolute death Loki was, if hers and Clint's and Thor's life was enough to strengthen him, but surely they had enough for all four of them…surely they had enough.

She felt Bruce shift behind her before his hand also reached between her and Clint and clamped on top of Loki. Steve and Tony knelt down close to Loki and placed their hands among the others as well. Faint blue power of the Mind Gem linked all six of them until their lives flowed down into Loki.

Natasha couldn't help but gasp—each breath was more and more difficult as she grew weaker and weaker. She could see it in the others' faces as well as they winced with fatigue and pain as each other's injuries and weariness leaked into their own, and yet Loki looked no more alive, no more healed.

She suppressed a wince when she felt a sharp twinge on the side of her head, and she could tell that the others felt it as well.

"Damn you, Stark," Steve said with a choked laugh. "I knew that the cut on your head wasn't 'just a doozy.'"

Tony swallowed down a chuckle, but it died immediately. He took in a deep breath, slowly, and let it go. In and out, a slow but sure pattern, until unconsciously the others followed him. Deep breath in…deep breath out…in…out…

And Natasha felt it. Loki's chest barely moved, but it moved nonetheless underneath her hand. She bent low until she could hear his very faint breathing and she gave a cry.

"He's breathing," she said. Despite her growing pain as Loki's weakness and the others' injuries sank into her. "He's breathing, he's alive—he's breathing!"

"We need a healer, fast," said Tony, but she could hear the incredulous hope in his voice. "He's breathing, but he won't be okay—not yet, not until he's fixed." He turned his head to shout over his shoulder. "Someone bring us healers _now_!"

Natasha shifted Loki until his head rested on her lap. He breathed, but he was so still and so deathly pale, and his magic left awful scars on his chest. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing as if that could tune Loki in closer to life, not caring about how her already little energy was waning.

Until Thor gave a gasp that shook her back into reality. She looked down on her hand and her heart skipped a beat; the Mind Gem's power that intertwined all their hands to Loki was beginning to flicker—threatening to fade.

"The Mind Gem is failing," said Thor. "It will soon disappear with the rest of the shards—and then—"

He needn't say it. Without what little of the Mind Gem they had left, there would be no way to link Loki to life, and as slowly and surely as he drew breath again, he could slowly and surely lose strength and die.

They were running out of time.

"Bruce, have you got anything to heal him for now?" said Steve.

"I only have bandages and minor healing stones on me," said Bruce. His breath was labored from the effort of sharing his life with Loki. "They wouldn't be of any help."

"Is a healer coming?" said Steve.

"Some of the Warriors Three went to find them," said Tony.

Clint cursed. "We're a good three miles from the healers' tent, where all the actual sorcerers are. We don't have time."

Natasha swallowed hard, trying to feel for Loki's heartbeat underneath the battered armor and torn tunic.

_Come on, Loki._

"My father," said Thor. "He must come. His magic is powerful—if anything, he could heal Loki."

"We can't risk you leaving, Thor," said Bruce. "If you take your hand away—we wouldn't be enough."

"I will not leave," said Thor, and he closed his eyes.

And when no one spoke, when Natasha could think of Loki and Loki only, she remembered that all of their minds were connected alongside their lives. She heard each of their thoughts as they hoped, as they waited and prayed for Loki's return.

_Brother, come back to us, please—_

_Loki, you can do it, I know you can, just keep breathing—_

_Loki, you bastard, don't give up on us now—_

_Keep fighting, Loki, just keep fighting and help will come—_

_Come on, Bambi, you're stronger than this, you can do it—_

She did not hesitate in thinking this—she did not care if the others heard, so long as Loki did. So long as Loki knew without a doubt.

_I love you, Loki. _

These were the words she had feared to say, that she did not think herself capable or worthy of saying for so long—and now she could not keep it to herself for the life of her.

_I love you, Loki. I love you, I love you, I love you…_

Clint gave a laugh laced with tears—not out of grief or of derision, but of hope, of acceptance, of a desire for Loki to hear this and _wake up. _Natasha's heart swelled and she felt a surge of strength, of life—not by herself, but by all the unity and hope they had together—that they would not give up.

She heard the healers come from behind her. There were many of them, tattered and worn but glowing with a power none of them could imagine. She saw them place their hands upon the Avengers' heads and felt a pair of hands upon her own. When she felt a surge of a rest course through her veins and her pains cease, she almost protested—why were they healing her and not Loki? But then she understood, as Loki's breaths grew less shallow and delicate—by healing them, their renewed health could heal Loki gradually.

They were bonded, like a web, a chain, tied to Loki to save him, and they were _so close._

She felt her limbs rejuvenate with energy, her wounds clotted and closed, her exhaustion trickle away—but Loki still did not stir, and she began to panic. Should not the effects of the healing diffuse into Loki by now, when instead she reaped all its benefits and seemingly gave nothing away?

"He still lives right now," Thor said, and Natasha knew he heard her fears. "He is strong, Natasha. He is a survivor. He has been through so much—he is strong."

Natasha swallowed hard. She knew Loki was strong—frustratingly strong, even—but she knew that he had been so, so tired. And there was no telling if he would instead of fighting to survive, choose to move…on.

The Mind Gem's tendrils slipped through the spaces between her fingers and she imagined that it was Loki grasping her hand. Its grip was so weak.

"The All-Father is coming," one of the healers said.

"I pray he will fly," Thor murmured.

The Mind Gem was beginning to slacken, that thin shard remaining fading. Natasha's heart beat rapidly with anxiety and she wished she knew how to shove her health, her strength, her life into Loki so that he would be safe. His head did not even make the slightest turn on her lap and she wondered if his state had improved at all. She took his limp hand and clutched it tight, relishing in the fact that it was not yet cold. She laced her fingers with his, waiting—waiting—for them to grasp back.

"Look—" said Clint.

The blue spider web that entwined all of them together was beginning to bleed away, the sharp blue diminishing to a translucent, cloudy light. She felt the bond weaken—no, not yet, not yet, he isn't awake yet, he's not all right yet—but she could not stop it from finally fading.

She waited with baited breath, her fingertips trembling as they rested on Loki's chest.

She felt it rise once.

Twice.

And—

"He still breathes," said Thor. His broad shoulders shook with emotion as he fought to keep the tears of tentative relief from his voice. "He will hold on."

Natasha raised Loki's hand to her lips, pressing his sharp knuckles against them. He still breathed. He still lived. There was still a chance.

"Father," Thor said, raising his head.

Natasha turned. Odin came to them, his steed behind him, tattered and bloodied by war. The moment Odin's eye fell upon his dying youngest, he let go of both Gungnir and the horse's reins, rushing to Loki's side and falling on his knees. He placed a shaking, bleeding hand on Loki's forehead, his face grave and grievous.

"Is he—?" said Odin, and he could not bring himself to say more.

"He still lives, my king," said one of the healers. "But only just, and must be taken care of quickly."

"Oh, my son," Odin said, brushing strands of Loki's hair away from his pale face. Carefully, he eased Loki into his arms and lifted him from the ground, gentler with him than he had ever been with anything else. Natasha held onto Loki's hand until she could not reach him anymore and left his fingers slip away from hers.

"The wounded and the dead must be tended to," said Odin, unable to take his eyes off of Loki's still form. "But I cannot bring myself to not care for my child."

"Your will shall be done, my father…my king," said Thor. His voice broke momentarily. "Just please—save him."

Odin bowed his head before climbing onto his horse, keeping Loki close to him. Natasha opened her mouth, to shout _wait _or _please_ so that he would not disappear and take Loki with him without Natasha saying something to him, to assure herself that this will not be the last time, but before she could draw her breath, Odin had ridden off and Loki was gone.

* * *

Natasha was not with Loki when Odin carried him home to be healed. She was not there when Frigga waited for them, shaking with the ever-present fear that her loved ones would not return and pale from the fact that this was almost true. The healers would not stop doting on Natasha when she passed through the city, despite all of her protests that she was absolutely _fine, _she had already been tended to, did anyone know how Loki was?

They wouldn't let her visit him, when she finally wriggled free from their care. The royal family allowed only, they told her, despite all her screams and arguments and improper threats. Thor had disappeared within the room the moment he shrugged off the healers and she rarely saw him since, not even during the vigils honoring the fallen or the feasts of victory. She could not control the pang of jealousy or the guilt that followed.

There was only one time she caught sight of Thor during one of the funerals, and she was only able to get one confession out of him: the fight for life alone was Loki's, which the healers could not aid. He could fight to live…or he could resign and move on. And they couldn't be sure where he was now.

She couldn't stomach anything—not the seeing off of warriors' ashes on ships to sea, not the heavy stew at the feasts that tasted of smoke in her mouth, not the words of gratitude and encouragement that Odin gave to his people before silently returning to his youngest son's side. When the returning civilians thanked her and the other soldiers endlessly, she could only return a tight-lipped smile and accepted the flowers they placed in her hand. Primroses, delicate in color and touch that felt too clean between her calloused fingers, but she pinned them in her red hair and they never withered for her to take them away.

It was Sif's funeral rites, however, that made Natasha feel inexplicably hollow, and this time she could only wish that her mind was distracted enough that she did not have to remember the deadening forlornness that fell upon them. Sif's ashes were cast into the ebbing shores alongside what was left of her sword and shield that had been so faithful to her for centuries. Several blooms of feathery asphodels drifted on the surface about her like swans.

Her parents wept loudly by the shore and Natasha wondered if they regretted letting their daughter pursue the life of a warrior, that it had led to such an early death. The Warriors Three were silent with grief; Volstagg let his tears run free, the saltwater tangling with his beard as he drew his young children away from the funeral, and even Hogun's face of impassiveness was contorted with sorrow. It only took one look at their faces for Natasha to understand that grieving truly never ended for the immortal.

Clint, however, shook her the most. He was silent and still the entire time, but she could see the heavy guilt upon him and it broke her heart. When Sif's remains were long out of sight across the horizon, she gently led him away, quietly sitting him down on the stone benches of Frigga's gardens and waiting for him to open his heart to her—to his best friend.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, and he looked down at his hands the whole time.

"I could have saved her, you know," said Clint. "She must have died while I was carrying her. I couldn't make it back in time. I didn't even try to protect her from getting shot."

"She wouldn't have wanted you to," Natasha said. "She was always one hell of a warrior, and she'd want responsibility over what happened to her."

"I just…God," said Clint. "Looking back, there were so many ways I could have done things right. I should have bound up her chest or something first. I should have tried looking for a medic along the way to help her a little more before taking her further. I should have carried her in another way, I should have ran faster, I should have done a thousand different things but then it ended up like this."

He bowed his head, running his hand through his short hair. It seemed as if he would always be wracked with guilt for one thing or another and Natasha desperately wished that there was some way to lift that burden from him.

"Don't blame yourself for this, Clint," she said. "It's not—"

"You always say that," said Clint. He was not accusatory or distraught, but his voice was drained. "I know you mean well, but you always say that. And I just _can't. _I was with her for almost the whole time, and then I let her die. How is it not my fault?"

"You weren't the one who killed her, Clint," said Natasha. "And if you weren't with her—if she was by herself when she was shot, then she would have just been alone. Just dying is by no means the worst thing. You took care of her, Clint, you cared for her, you fought with her, you were there for her…until the very end. Is that so bad?"

"I don't know," said Clint. He rubbed his eyes; he must not have slept in a while. "I don't like to think that she died because I messed up…but I don't want to think she was meant to die no matter what happened." He gave an empty chuckle. "I don't want to think that anyone that died in this war was meant to die, no matter what. But they are dead."

"And we're alive," Natasha said softly, tracing circles on the stone bench.

"We're alive," said Clint. "And Thanos is dead, and a bunch of Chitauri, and all the Kree in the other Realms after they lost…and Earth is alive. Jotunheim's alive, Asgard's alive, they're alive. There's so much living and dying when it comes to war. It's hard to remember the living part, though."

Natasha looked to Clint. He watched the sky, the clouds hesitantly pale, indecisive of whether or not to storm. She looked to his hands that were folded on his lap, hands that he saw only stained with blood and unworthiness. But she looked upon them and she remembered how they put away the arrow pointed to her and stretched out to her as a second chance all those years ago, how they clasped onto his friends' shoulders in encouragement and camaraderie…how they beat against Loki's chest to try to save him.

"You're a good man, Clint," said Natasha. "You really are."

Clint cracked a smile. Natasha clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"How are you?" said Clint.

"Me?" said Natasha.

"Yeah," said Clint. "You don't sleep or eat either. None of us are, honestly. But I know you're worried. About—you know—Loki."

Natasha's gaze fell to the ground. "I don't know," she said. "No one's telling me anything. No one's letting me see him either. I told that Eir woman that I was going to melt off her toenails if she didn't and she still wouldn't let me in."

"Not going to lie, Nat," said Clint. "That's not exactly the best way to convince people to let you do things, especially to the head healer."

"Right," said Natasha with a grunt. She exhaled heavily, interlocking her fingers. Not unlike how the Mind Gem had tied itself to her. "I'm so going to kick that bastard's ass when I get the chance. He could have _warned_ us, for God's sake. I don't know if it would have helped but—"

Her throat caught up and she couldn't help but laugh thickly, shaking her head. She missed Loki. She wanted to see him again, to speak with him again…but she couldn't even be sure if there would be another chance.

"You know," Clint said. "We _are_ master assassins that snuck into even SHIELD pretty smoothly before Chitauri threw shit into the fan."

Natasha turned quizzically to Clint, who raised his eyebrows.

"I think that a couple of peaceful healers who probably have no experience in dealing with espionage would be no problem to slip through with the proper plan," said Clint.

Natasha blinked before her face cracked in an uncontainable smile.

"Oh Clint," she said. "What could anyone in the world ever do without you?"

* * *

Clint positioned himself to stand guard at the door for Natasha, promising her at least a good thirty minutes until Eir would come running back—and probably quite cross too—after finding out that Clint's claim that Tony falling off a roof and breaking his tailbone was a lie (Tony was enthusiastic in going along with the plan that included both aiding star-cross'd lovers and yelling at the top of his lungs about his 'achey breaky ass').

Natasha readily agreed, thinking thirty minutes enough time for her, just to assure herself that Loki would be all right, but when she stepped into his room and saw him lying on the bed, a gold haze of protective healing cast over him, she knew she didn't want to leave him at any time.

He lay so silently on the bed, still worryingly white but looking more asleep than dead. His hands were thin upon the sheets, doves come to rest. Eyes still hidden behind paper-thin eyelids. Her prince of a dream that nearly did not come true.

She sat at his bedside with baited breath, afraid that if she touched him—if she did so much as reach out to him—the golden haze would shatter and rain shards upon him and he would break. But she needed to take his hand—she needed to reassure herself that he was there and alive, that this was no mirage or that he was no illusion. She gently placed her hand on top of his, running her fingers down the knuckles as prominent as marbles. She let her fingers sink in between his, waiting for the squeeze in return that did not come.

"Hey, Loki," she said.

There was no Shakespeare to occupy the both of them, and she was no master of poetry, but she hoped she could still entice him to wake anyway.

"I…" She swallowed hard, unable to take her eyes off of him. His cheeks were hollow as if he was starving; she reached out and traced a hand down them. He was chilled, like glass, but not deathly so.

"I miss you," she said. "I miss you and I wish that you'd come back soon. Come back _now._"

She combed his hair with her free hand. Would he come back to her? To all of them? Or would he be too worn from life, too tempted by an eternal rest she could not offer him, to turn back?

She felt the tears prick the corner of her eyes and she was unabashed.

"You're making my past several days a living hell, you know that?" she said. "I'm waiting for you to come back, I'm waiting for a sign…and I can be impatient."

She clasped his hand with both of hers protectively, as an oyster would shield a pearl.

"You heard us all, didn't you?" said Natasha. "When we were linked to you—how we all want you to come back. To be okay."

She didn't know if he could hear her and she wished there would be at least some sort of _sign._

"I'm telling you, you'd make a lot of people disappointed if you didn't—if you didn't come back," Natasha said, her voice wavering.

It baffled her how Loki, who spun and ran and fought and danced out of her grasp without ceasing, could not even hold up his hand on his own without her help now. As unresponsive as a ragdoll, and she rested her hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat to remember that he was alive now.

"I promised you something," she said, her lips barely moving. "I promised that once we got out of the war…once we've won and survived, I'd kiss you for the first time."

She curled his short hair behind his ear, letting her fingers graze his jawline. She leaned in closer, and wished she could sink into him again. Wished they shared the same bones, the same blood, because she did not want him to ever be alone—_she _did not want to be alone.

"I'm not known to be an honest woman," said Natasha. "But I keep my word."

She closed her eyes and gently pressed her lips against his. She wished she could breathe life into him—kiss him until he returned to her like a myth, but here she could only remember that he was still alive, still here with her, and that she loved him.

His hand was cool but his lips felt warm and she wanted to melt into him.

But when she pulled away from him and hungrily searched his face, half believing in the fairy tales, she saw nothing change and her heart sank. She almost laughed at herself—what did she expect? She was not one to tease reality.

Instead, she laid her head down on his chest, ear against his beating heart. Every beat made her feel warmer inside and it filled her with a rush of joy. It was the sweetest sound, an echo that almost spoke to her, saying, _I'm here…I'm here…I'm here…_

The lullaby lulled her to sleep, her cheek warm with the kiss of his heart.

(_She woke to long fingers running through her short hair, the touch as gentle as a breeze. The lights were dim with night that crept so stealthily up on her, and her eyes were glazed with unexpected sleep. _

_She raised her head barely an inch above his chest, cheek reddened from lying so long. She felt a cool hand on her cheek and she recognized it immediately—she had long memorized the pattern of lines on his palm, the slimness of his fingers…his touch._

_"You're beautiful," he said, and the voice she so longed to hear was so earnest. _

_Her eyes met his—wide open, glimmering, and she let herself cry.)_


	42. Chapter 42

**I want to dedicate this story to my big sister, who is seriously the Thor to my Loki minus the fratricide attempts, and who is responsible for inspiring me to write this mammoth of a story with that one prompt a long time ago at the end of last summer. Thank you to my writing mentor and most of all, best friend.**

**And thank you to every single one of you who read all the way to the very last chapter. You guys have encouraged me more than you could ever know and I am so honored and touched that you stuck to this story for so long. I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

**If you would like, you can visit my tumblr (mykingdomforapen) for some last notes about this story, including title explanation, symbolism explanation, deleted scenes, alternate endings, and some parting words. I'd be very honored if you did so.**

**This will not be the last of me! There are already stories being currently uploaded on my AO3 that you won't find on FFnet (link on my profile and tumblr) and while I keep insisting this will be my last fanfiction, I've been telling myself that for the past two years. And who knows, maybe one of these days you will wander through the bookshelves and see a book whose writing style you strangely recognize...let's hope :'D. **

**And without further ado, the last chapter of 'Syrgja.' Enjoy~**

* * *

Natasha was always strangely keen on remembering the exact time of things. As if her ledger was not only a list of all the rights and wrongs of her life, but the exact moment she let herself change.

2:42 (MSK)—The moment she killed her first man.

23:04 (MSK)—The moment that Clint lowered his arrow and raised his hand.

10:59 (CEST)—Operation Budapest. She and Clint never really looked at each other in the same way for a long time afterward.

15:34 (EST)—Despite all the doubt and disapproval of many superiors, the Avengers fought together and saved New York City.

1:10 (CET)—She landed her helicopter in Norway for a special mission to bring two certain people back to SHIELD.

23:43 (EST)—Loki said her name.

00:32 (AEST)—She saw the lights.

7:32 (?)—Her world ended.

So the moment when Loki breathed, when she rubbed her sleep-glazed eyes again and again because she was afraid of knowing the difference between dreams and reality but was more afraid of a lie, when Loki ran his hand through her hair and Loki smiled and Loki told her she was beautiful and Loki _breathed_, she knew.

5:25.

The moment her dream became reality.

* * *

"They want to hold a feast, you know."

Thor was sitting beside Loki on the bed, changing the bandages across Loki's still-scarred chest. Loki's magic may leave permanent scars, and Clint's violent attempts of CPR certainly left their mark. Loki braced himself as Thor cleaned the wounds with hot water and salve, forcing himself not to shy away from the stinging.

"Has Asgard not yet gobbled their fill?" said Loki.

"Oh, we've had one to honor the fallen," said Thor, "but hardly one to celebrate the victory. Or to thank our mortal friends for their efforts. And you, very importantly, considering victory was at hand because of you. The artisans are composing ballads and tapestries of you already, and I promise you I had nothing to do with it."

"Please tell me you're joking."

Thor laughed and Loki cursed softly.

"I had thought you had gotten them all out of the way by now," said Loki.

"Apologies, brother," said Thor. "You did not stay unconscious long enough to miss out on all of them."

Loki cracked a smile. He shrank away instinctively when Thor's fingers slick with salve came close to his wounds, reluctant to feel its stinging effect. Thor put a hand on Loki's shoulder to keep him from backing away and applied the ointment.

"We aren't children anymore, Loki," said Thor.

"That balm is no kinder to adults than it is to children," said Loki. "It burns—no, it freezes!"

"Yes, what would happen if I did this?" said Thor before smearing his thumb across Loki's forehead. Loki flailed, sputtering indignantly, before crashing into the headboard. He gave a small gasp, his torso wracked with still-fresh pain. Thor's face sobered immediately.

"I shouldn't have done that," said Thor, gently pulling Loki back up. "I am sorry."

"For goodness' sake," said Loki. "It isn't like I've never been hurt before. This is nothing like that one injury in Nornheim."

"Yes, but you never legitimately almost _died _in Nornheim because you sacrificed yourself without telling anyone," said Thor.

"I don't know about that. Karnilla was not playing easy."

"Loki."

Loki lifted his eyes warily to Thor's face. "Don't tell me you're cross with me."

Thor said nothing at first, intent on properly cleaning Loki's wounds.

"Come now, Thor," said Loki. "How many ridiculously noble and life-threatening decisions have you made in your lifetime?"

"That does not soften the blow. Or the fear," said Thor. "Do you not realize what sort of monster of a journey you put my emotions through?"

"I might be able to guess," Loki said.

"First you tell me you're dying," said Thor. "Then we have that hope of the Reality Gem saving you. Then, right when we could have taken the Reality Gem from Thanos, you instead go and pursue a plan that kills Thanos and nearly yourself—"

"To be fair, if you used the Reality Gem to take the Mind Gem out of me, there'd be no way to weaken Thanos," said Loki.

"—then," Thor said, speaking louder, "the Mind Gem, which was meant to kill you, ended up helping to save you—"

"It makes those paradoxes more often than not, it seems."

"—and then your survival wasn't even _certain_ until now and—by the Norns, Loki, I swear, your life goal is to give me gray hairs."

"I could easily do that without all this trouble."

"Unfortunately true."

Thor unfurled a roll of bandages and carefully wrapped Loki's chest with them.

"How fares Asgard now?" said Loki. "Is there any rebuilding to be done?"

"The city was not touched, though the fields are currently being cleaned away," said Thor. "Those who have lost loved ones will receive aid and reparation. But Asgard is safe now, as is Midgard."

"What of the other Realms?" said Loki. "What of Jotunheim?"

"Jotunheim rises victoriously," said Thor. "The Kree and the Chitauri stood little chance against them when Jotunheim's innate powers reawakened."

"Any news of the queen?"

Thor raised his eyebrows. "No. Their messenger did not bring details, only reassurance. Why?"

Loki hesitated before shrugging a shoulder. "Jotunheim shouldn't have to deal with yet another political dilemma, is all. What of the other realms?"

"Vanaheim is rebuilding the damage as we speak. The dwarves suffered many blows, but kept the enemy from their home, and the elves have returned to their usual and peaceful seclusion."

"That is good," said Loki, closing his eyes. "That is very good."

Silence fell between the two brothers as Thor tirelessly reapplied Loki's bandages. Indeed, the scars will stay for a very long time, perhaps until the end of Loki's life—an angry reminder upon ivory skin of what could have been lost.

"How are Sif's parents?" Loki said, voice soft.

Thor wetted his lips. "They are still grieving."

Loki sighed, bowing his head.

"Loki of Asgard, self-proclaimed most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms," he said, "and I cannot even restore breath unto others."

"If Death were so easily defeated, life would not nearly be so precious," said Thor. "Sif was brave and strong until the very end. She would have wanted it that way."

"The Valkyries should be honored to escort a soul like hers," said Loki. He ran his hand over his wrist. "I don't know how to feel. We won the war. I'm alive. Our Avengers are alive. You're alive. But Sif is dead, and so are many other brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, parents. And it didn't have to happen this way, yet it did."

Thor paused in his bandaging. Loki averted his gaze to the window. He could not see the remnants of the battlefield from here, but he knew the sun shone down on it just as boldly as it did upon the golden city.

"We cannot change who dies and who will live to see another day," said Thor. "And we can't change war once it is borne out of someone's choices. But what we do with it—how we move on and heal and change the realms for the better—now, how can anyone call that powerless?"

He carefully returned to bandaging Loki's wounds. Loki leaned in a little closer to Thor, as if to comfort himself in Thor's warmth.

"Are you well, brother?" said Loki.

"I told you, the healers have locked us all down before we could even move back to the city once the war was finished," said Thor.

"Your silence is heavy and anxious," said Loki. "I'd think that grief and tiredness is on your mind, but I believe that it is not the only thing."

Thor exhaled heavily. "You do have a knack on reading emotions."

"What is on your mind?" said Loki.

"I still cannot get the image out of my head," said Thor. "Of you—dying—in my arms. I _was_ powerless. If we had not figured out about the Mind Gem…if it faded too soon…" Thor swallowed. "I can't even imagine it."

"I apologize. For worrying you," said Loki. "But I couldn't think of any other way. Thanos is—was—nearly unbeatable by himself."

Loki sank into silence, his hands clutching his ankle protectively. Thor tilted his head worriedly, wrapping the bandages tightly around Loki's lean torso.

"When you were offering Thanos a second chance, Loki," Thor said, "did you mean it?"

"What do you mean, did I mean it?" Loki said.

He gave a small gasp when Thor pulled the bandage too tightly. Thor immediately loosened the bandage, a hasty apology on his lips.

"Did you…did you really offer a second chance in hopes that he would take it?" said Thor.

Loki licked his thin lips, scratching absentmindedly at his leg.

"Yes," said Loki. "We're all broken, Thor, somehow. Why else would we break others? We're all hurting from something. So was Thanos. Maybe if he took it, we could be spared one less corpse."

"It does not excuse his wrongs," said Thor.

"No," said Loki. "Nor does it excuse mine." He smiled sadly. "But it certainly puts things into perspective."

He trailed into silence, eyes watching the swiftly rising sun. Perhaps in that gaze he remembered a hundred years of what had passed, or a hundred years of what might have been if things fell differently, only to be drawn back with Thor's words to the reality of what was now.

"Have you forgiven him?" said Thor. "For all that he had done to you?"

Loki hesitated. When he did not speak for a long time, Thor put a warm hand on his shoulder. Loki leaned into it instinctively, protectively.

"One day I will," said Loki. "I hope so."

Thor tied the bandage tightly closed on Loki's back, smoothing it down to catch any wrinkles. He helped Loki back into his loose tunic, noting that exhaustion was settling into Loki's still healing body. Loki lowered himself back onto the bed, eyelids drooping with sleep. Thor pulled the sheets up to Loki's shoulders like their mother used to do for them back in those speckled, childhood nights.

"I don't know if this means anything to you, Loki," said Thor, "but I am so proud of you."

He thought he saw Loki smile before drifting asleep.

* * *

"Are you really, really sure about this?"

Bruce was staring down at the Infinity Gauntlet and the Gems lay out before him on a stone table. Odin nodded, still miraculously patient after probably five times of Bruce questioning his orders.

"We've nearly lost our Nine Realms, our homes, and in my case my family because of these artifacts," said Odin. "I've never wanted to be rid of something more than I do now."

Bruce raised his eyebrows in a way that Tony _knew _was saying, _then why keep them around in the first place?_

"I hope you understand the gravity of what you're asking," said Bruce. "I don't even know if the Hulk can do so much as dent it."

Tony had to hand it to Bruce for being so comfortable contradicting the king of all things supernatural...and Point Break's old man.

"No one truly needs infinite and invulnerable power," said Odin. "I had once thought that possessing such formidable relics would make easier ensuring peace, but in truth it only causes unrest and dangerous ambition. There are better ways of keeping order and making peace, and holding absolute power is not it."

"Come on, Bruce," said Tony. "I'd totally have a go with trying to destroy these babies, except the suit's gone out of order."

"Yes, but…" Bruce bit his lip. "What if you need it for some reason in the future? But then you wouldn't have it."

"A time when I would want to force a change in reality and the balance of how everything is already designed?" said Odin. "I do not want to play god. Perhaps one can wield its power and responsibility perfectly and carefully, and use it not solely for order but for love and wisdom, but that one is neither I nor anyone here."

"Clint would so have a go at this," said Tony, voice low with awe. "He's been complaining about these 'all-powerful gadgets' and whatnot for ages."

Bruce pressed his lips in a thin line, cautiously pushing up his sleeve. Tony could sense Bruce's practical hesitation like it was a whirlwind, but what Odin said was true. So long as the Infinity Gauntlet existed, it could only destroy. There was no need for such power—even the meek with absolutely nothing can stand strong, and the most fearsome could fall.

"Okay," said Bruce. "I'll do it."

"Thank you, Bruce Banner," said Odin, bowing his head. "I do not know how to repay you, but whatever you wish from me, I shall do it."

"That won't be necessary at all," said Bruce. "But what makes you think I'll have a better shot at destroying these than you guys with your magical powers? I mean, it was Loki's magic that destroyed the first one."

"All of us are running thin with our magic," said Odin. "Even I suspect the Odinsleep to come soon."

"Think of all the bragging rights you'll get," said Tony. "Bruce Banner, the Destroyer of the Infinity Gauntlet...sounds like one hell of a comic book hero."

"I'll forego the titles, thanks," said Bruce. He glanced around the room; it was completely impenetrable stone—Hulk-proof, at least to a point. "You guys want to get the other guy to come out and play somehow? I've been keeping such a cap on him during the war to focus on healing people that I think it'll be harder to get him out now."

"We can prompt him with Bambi," said Tony. "The other guy's pretty protective of him."

"Let's find a way that doesn't put anyone in the line of danger, please," Bruce said with an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, okay…stand aside, your highness," said Tony, dragging Odin back into the corner of the room. Tony returned to Bruce, opposite of him across the table with the Infinity relics.

"Okay, Hulkie-Hulk, my man…can you hear me?"

"Tony," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow.

"Shh, I'm trying to communicate," said Tony, holding up a finger.

Bruce sighed heavily.

"See these babies right here?" Tony gestured to the bulbous gems upon the table. "See them? Do you remember what they did? Yeah—they hurt Loki. They hurt all of us—Natasha, Clint, Steve, Brucie, even me. It's because of them we were all hurt. They even almost killed us. Do you hear me, Hulk? These things caused an asshole to kill thousands of people and torture many. These things right on the table are responsible for all that."

Bruce was frowning; Tony couldn't tell if it was out of annoyance of Tony's badgering or because of legitimate anger. Either way was a sure playground for the Other Guy, at least.

"It's true," Tony said, raising his voice. "Because of the Infinity Gems and the Gauntlet, Loki was tortured, war was waged, and many people lost their lives. It corrupted others into lives of destruction, into hopelessness—"

Apparently some weeks in Asgard made his speech a sure shoe-in for Shakespeare in the park as well.

"And now they're just sitting here," said Tony. "Don't you see, big guy? The longer these guys stay around, the more possibility there is that someone else will use these to hurt other people. People you care about. It could be Steve next time, or your Betty, or—"

At the mention of Betty's name, Bruce ripped apart and Hulk took over, skin blooming a deep and irrepressible green. Tony stepped back immediately until his back hit the wall as the Hulk let out a long, angry growl and smashed his fist against the table.

_Crack—_Tony couldn't tell what exactly broke but something definitely did not stand against Hulk's fist.

_Crack—_there was a definite line on the stone table and sparkling grit fell to the table—at least one of the Gems was done for good.

_Crack—_the fingers of the gauntlet were sent flying across the room and Tony had to duck to avoid being punctured by them.

_Crack—_the entire table split in half and whatever remained intact fell to the ground. That did not stop the Hulk, who began to stomp mercilessly upon the Gems until the floor crackled beneath him. Tony pressed closely against the wall, wondering how exactly possible it was for the Hulk to break through the floor and send them all plummeting even though they were already underground.

The Hulk continued his rampage against the Gems until only rubble and fine dust lay at his feet. When he saw that his work was done, he scuffed his sole against the debris until it scattered like ashes before prowling in the corners, rubbing bits of glass from his feet. What was left of the Gems flickered, their lights dying in their dust before fading altogether, leaving no memory of the superfluous power they promised.

"Walk it off, big guy," said Tony as the Hulk calmed down in the corners of the room, scuffing dust from his knuckles. "That's my boy."

"Fascinating," Odin said, his voice soft.

Tony turned warily to Odin.

"What is?" Tony said.

His first thought was that he feared that Odin spoke like a scientist observing a specimen, or anyone that saw both Bruce and the Hulk as subhuman miracle. But instead of detached interest in Odin's eye, Tony saw a softness—awe, even.

"He is," said Odin, his eye following the Hulk. "For someone whom many fear to be dangerous and cruel, he has an enormous heart to protect others."

Tony cracked a smile. Of course, Tony had known this all along.

"If there's anything anyone should ever know about Bruce or the Hulk," said Tony, "it's that those two share more than a body—they share one big, fat heart too."

* * *

Steve was never one to sit still and let others work around him. All of Asgard seemed to expect that he would rest and not associate himself with any more duties because he was, in all technicalities, a guest to them, but how was he supposed to sit back and relax while there was still so much to fix in the aftermath of the battle?

But every time he tried to clean up the streets, help out the people with whatever they needed, they would usher him back to the castle and into plush seats and rich delicacies that Steve ended up having to sneak out in old Asgardian armor to avoid recognition, just so he could at least help distribute soldiers' benefits to the brave warriors or their widows.

During one of his rounds through town, passing baskets of food to families suffering losses, he spotted the Warriors Three a little ways off, riding horses through town, along with a line of other soldiers. Steve curiously followed them—no doubt they were heading to the direction of the Bifröst, but for what?

He quietly approached them, pulling away the hood of his coat that he had borrowed from Thor. When one of them—Fandral—spotted him, he gave a pleased exclamation.

"If it isn't the captain of Midgard!" said Fandral, pulling his horse to stop. He slid off his steed, giving Steve a welcoming clap on the shoulder. "Is this how you pass your time? By the Norns, you Midgardians really never stop and rest, do you?"

Fandral spoke cheerily, but Steve could see the scars of war still glisten in his eyes—a look he was far too used to after so many wars.

"I just want to help," said Steve. "Your hospitality is great, really—but I just want to serve." He nodded to Volstagg and Hogun, who also joined Fandral before Steve while the other soldiers maneuvered around them to continue their trek to the Rainbow Bridge. "Where are you guys going?"

"To the other Realms as messengers," said Volstagg. "News about Thanos' fall may not have spread throughout the rest of Yggdrasil, though victory has found them all, and we would see if any Realm needs our help in rebuilding."

"That's really great," said Steve. "But what happens now?"

"What do you mean by that?" said Fandral with a raised eyebrow.

"Well—I don't know much about Asgardian politics," said Steve. "But I heard you weren't on the best terms with the Dark Elves or the Dwarves or the Frost Giants."

"I think this war rather shook our priorities enough," said Volstagg, with a sad smile. "After many friends are lost, we really do forget the point in enemies."

Steve lowered his head. He knew from Thor's stories that Sif had been a dear friend to them all, especially these three warriors. Fandral and Hogun had trained with her since their earliest youth, and Volstagg had watched her grow from childhood to womanhood like his own child, and all of a sudden she was gone. They had not even seen her go, as if she was suddenly erased from their existence and no explanation could be given, and they had to wade through grief and disbelief.

"I'm very sorry," said Steve, "about Sif."

Fandral offered a small smile. "Thank you, Captain. Mourning is never easy, no matter the situation, but at least she had gone the way she had always wanted to—strong and for her people."

"It will be empty, though," said Volstagg, "how we will go to our duties and training and she will not be there with us."

His voice trailed away and he averted his gaze, offering Steve a flash of a quick smile as if that could distract him.

"She would not want us to mourn her so painfully," Hogun said, and Steve realized it was the first time he heard the man speak. "She would have hit us across the heads and called us spineless maidens for our tears."

Fandral chuckled, shaking his head. "That she would have. I can guarantee that."

His bright eyes flickered up to the sky, to the clouds as pale as light.

"We all loved her," he said, his voice soft. "In our own way. Like a sister, a friend. Perhaps some of us hoped as a lover." The corners of his lips twitched upward at that. "But nevertheless, we loved her dearly. She was a dear friend, and always will be."

"She reminded me a little of Peggy," said Steve.

"Who is Peggy?" said Fandral.

"A woman I know," said Steve, his memory still plush and sweet of her. "She's really strong-hearted and independent…always aimed to take care of everyone around her with her own strength. She and Sif…both were great women."

"Where is she now?" said Volstagg.

"Ah…I don't really know," said Steve. "Sometimes the best people you meet might be the ones you have the least amount of time with. But it's time nonetheless and I'm grateful for that."

The four men stood in thoughtful silence, their memories golden with the reflection of the past. When Volstagg spoke again, Steve was a little shaken; it was as if he had expected Sif to speak next, as she would interject loudly in the presence of men.

"Your companion—the archer," said Volstagg.

"Clint?" said Steve.

"Yes," said Volstagg. "Please—make sure he too understands that it is not his fault. I had seen it in his eyes when we bade Sif farewell, that guilt plagues him. It is by no means his fault, and we are glad that he had been her companion."

"Okay," said Steve, his voice as light as an echo. "Thank you."

Volstagg nodded before climbing back onto his horse. The other warriors bade goodbye to Steve before returning to their steeds and continuing their path to the Bifröst. Steve watched them go, their receding figures disappearing deep into the outskirts of the city, before he pulled back on his hood and continued his duties.

When he saw Clint, the first thing he noticed was that Clint was smiling and speaking with the other Asgardians. He had seen little of Clint these past several days, their days taking them through different paths in different hours, but the sight of Clint smiling lifted Steve's spirits; Clint, if anything, was a poor liar, and smiles were the hardest to feign.

When Clint spotted Steve and easily recognized him underneath the hood, he motioned for Steve to come to him. Steve hurriedly obliged. He noted that Clint was pushing a wheelbarrow of brick and shale, with a scroll of what looked like a layout of a new building tucked under his arm. And most of all, that Clint too tried to blend in with the disguise of Asgardian clothing to keep from being recognized and dragged back into hospitality.

"What are you doing?" said Steve. "I thought you were sticking around the castle."

"I thought you were too," said Clint. "Looks like everyone's sneaking around trying to get things done." He nodded to some of his acquaintances. "Hey, you guys go ahead, all right?"

"What's all this for?" said Steve when they were left alone.

"This?" Clint nodded at the wheelbarrow. "The city's walls were sort of battered, so we're rebuilding it. Thankfully nothing got in to wreak hell, but still, broken wall and everything."

"Need any help?" said Steve.

"Yeah, I'm sure we can use your rippling muscles and all for some of the work," said Clint, offering Steve the wheelbarrow. Steve took it readily and Clint laughed. "I could seriously trick you to do all my work and you'd do it."

"Only because I know you'd still want to do your share in the end," said Steve.

"Touché," said Clint. "Shoo, that's my wheelbarrow. You can get your own. Actually, hold my map."

Clint handed Steve the map and continued pushing the wheelbarrow to the wall. Steve could see the gaping holes in the once proud walls, like jagged teeth rising from the earth. Already craftsmen were slathering bricks on the empty spaces.

"How's your body?" said Clint. "Wow, that sounded suggestive. I mean, how are you holding up? No lasting injuries or anything?"

"Those healers patched me up really well," said Steve, unfurling the scroll. There were many miniscule rips on the paper, as if whoever wrote upon it used a pair of scissors instead of a pen to write. "You? Nothing wrong, right?"

"I'm all good," said Clint. "Thank God, right? No one lost any fingers. I hope Fury promotes us for this."

"What, you want to replace Hill or Coulson and become his right hand man?" said Steve with a grin.

"Oh, I take that back. Those two can have Fury all they want," said Clint. "Whoa, sorry, little lady!" he said when a young child playing on the side of the road jumped away when Clint's wheelbarrow came too close. "I really don't know how to steer these things."

"How are you holding up?" said Steve.

"Hm?"

"I mean, are you doing well?"

Clint raised his eyebrows.

"All right, who decided to sic you on me?" said Clint. "Was it Nat? I swear, she wants to be my mother hen or something."

"I just want to make sure you're all right after—"

"After Sif?"

Steve paused. Clint gave a crooked smile and looked away.

"No, I'm not completely okay," said Clint. "Of course not. It's only been a couple of days or something. I still remember her, you know? And I still regret things. I can't snap my fingers and expect to be okay."

"I know," said Steve. "I just…wish you didn't have to hurt, you know."

"Man," Clint said. "If you wished that for everyone, you'd be getting a lot of disappointments."

Steve smiled sadly. The two men walked quietly side by side for a while. Children would sometimes run up, shrieking with excitement at the sight of the mortal heroes—sometimes a coy girl would ask for a lock of their hair. Clint laughed at Steve's blush, and Steve nearly succeeded in tripping Clint.

"What do you think happens after this?" said Steve.

"Always looking far into the future, aren't you?" said Clint. "We make sure everything's peachy keen here, then we go back. Tell Fury we were just on a vacation and skip along."

"Something tells me Fury wouldn't believe that," said Steve.

"Eh, probably not," said Clint. "But explaining to him that we just went through a war and our ex-war criminal sacrificed himself for us but then we forced him back to life is a little bit of a long story."

"Which he would believe even less," Steve said with a wry smile.

"Bah, I think he'd see Loki's good side one of these days," said Clint. "We'll spoon-feed him that, little by little. I mean…I wouldn't want SHIELD thinking for the rest of their existence that Loki is a no-good SOB."

"You know what, Barton?" said Steve. "You really are one remarkable guy."

"Whoa, hold it," said Clint. "Did that doozie on your head get to your brain harder than you thought?"

"Shh, I'm trying to praise you," said Steve. "I'm serious. Do you want me to tell you why I think so?"

"I actually would rather you didn't," Clint said, walking faster. "Excuse me, pardon me, man with a shitload of bricks coming through."

Steve laughed, easily catching up with Clint. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. But I'm serious. You're one hell of a remarkable guy."

"Watch that tongue of yours, Cap," said Clint.

"Do you have some sort of paranoia against heartfelt compliments? What if I started commenting on other things, like your singing voice? Or—I don't know—your archery arm?"

"Oh, look at this, I'm losing control over my wheelbarrow!" said Clint before sprinting, rolling the wheelbarrow down the street. "Oh no, I can't stop it, holy cow!"

Steve couldn't stop laughing.

* * *

The feast had qualities that Loki remembered from every other feast he attended; loaded with food and drink—perhaps a little too much drink—Thor laughing up a storm (which was fitting), Frigga sighing loudly at her sons' (read: Thor) shenanigans, and very, _very _loud.

But this feast, of all the feasts he ever attended, was far from being similar to anything Loki had ever seen. The tables were underneath the Asgardian night sky, out in the open air and in the town square, spilling into the broad cobblestone streets of the city. Every chair was filled with civilians, warriors, servants, nobility—everyone of Asgard attended the feast of celebration. There was no face left peeping in on them from the dark corners, not unless someone pulled them into the light cast by the many lanterns strung up over their heads and gave them a chair to rest on.

There were no adorning helmets to be worn, no cloaks, none of those stifling embellishments dedicated to special occasions. This Loki was glad of—but even with the intermingling of all the people to celebrate their lives, he found himself drawn to sit next to Thor, a familiar companion ever since childhood. Thor beamed when Loki came close to him, hugging him carefully as to not upset Loki's still tender wounds.

"Glad to see that you deigned to come," said Thor.

"Glad to see you're not inebriated yet," said Loki.

He gazed around them, at the long tables of endless food and drink, of the songs and laughter that were so bright he could have sworn the flames in the lantern glowed at the sound of them. He was never one for public festivities, but at the sight of the townspeople dancing on the town square at the music of the pan flutes and lyres, his heart warmed. These were his people, whether he liked it or not…and like it he did.

"Prince Loki, Prince Loki!"

A young child tottered up to Loki, a wreath of white lilies in her tiny hand. Loki, surprised, bent down before her.

"Yes?" he said.

Before he could react, the child crowned him with the wreath of lilies, beaming as she fitted the snowy petals over his ebony locks, before dashing away, shyness overtaking her. Loki straightened, both touched and bemused, while Thor chuckled in the background.

"You truly are a king now, Loki," said Thor.

"Shush," said Loki. The wreath was made too big for his head and slipped down to his neck like a necklace. "I think we've broke a record here. Who can truly say that they celebrated a feast with an entire city?"

"We ought to make a habit of this," said Thor.

"Perhaps since you are king, you would start making up excuses to host them," Loki said with a smirk.

"That will be ways away from now."

"I thought you would be crowned soon."

"Father is doing a fine enough job still," Thor said with a shrug. "I still have much to learn."

"Yes, perhaps," said Loki. "Perhaps you can return to your Jane in the meantime…what was it that Tony likes to say? Keep love alive?"

Thor chuckled. "Maybe one day you would meet her. Would you?"

Loki took a drink from his cup. "Only to see how far out of your league she is."

"Oh, do not worry," said Thor. "She is very far."

"Thor! Loki!"

Tony came to them, a flagon of drinksloshing in his hand. Loki rolled his eyes at the evident source of Tony's jubilation before receiving Tony's one-armed hug.

"I'm telling you," said Tony. "Asgard parties hard. A significantly less number of strippers, but I can manage."

"Please don't frighten anyone with your songs and odd dance moves," said Loki. "There are children present."

"Aw, don't worry about it," said Tony. "I'll make sure your innocent little eyes won't see anything." He took another healthy gulp of his goblet.

"You do realize that Asgardian mead is significantly stronger than your Midgardian brew," said Thor.

"Don't mess with me, Point Break," said Tony. "I mean, Steve's been drinking and he's absolutely fine."

"Stark, Steve cannot be intoxicated."

"Oh. Right." Tony rubbed his eyes. "Well, gold star for him. Damn, don't tell Pepper. I asked your old man to send her a message for me through those ravens. Make sure he doesn't tell her I'm in a party with ten thousand year-old alcohol."

"When will you be going back?" said Loki.

"I think the day after tomorrow," said Tony. "Give us a day to fight off hangovers, you know? Hey—" He poked Loki hard in the chest. "That thing I said—a long, long time ago—about fixing you up after finding you in Norway and then making you promise to never come back to Earth—you know that I was kidding, right? That I didn't mean a single word of that?"

"Tony, you're drunk," said Loki.

"Uh-uh, no I'm not," said Tony, putting the drink underneath Loki's nose.

Loki caught its smell and found—to his surprise—that it was not in fact mead but cloudberry juice. Tony laughed at Loki's look of disbelief.

"Since when did you pass over alcohol?" said Loki.

"Looks like the God of Lies is losing his touch day after day," said Tony. He sobered and shook Loki by the shoulder. "I'm serious, Bambi. Don't you make some disappearing act on us like Thor did right after New York City."

"In my defense, the Bifröst wasn't repaired for much of that time," said Thor.

"You could have at least given us raven-mail or something," said Tony. "Don't make this the last time we see you, okay? Are you sure you can't just live some time on Earth, the two of you? I'll dedicate two whole floors for you, just like the others. We could be like a family, seriously. A really weird, happy sort of family."

Loki couldn't stop himself from smiling.

"I won't lie, Stark," said Loki. "I did technically promise Fury I would never return to Earth."

"Oh, forget Fury," said Stark. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. I mean, what are you doing here on Asgard anyway? Besides being a prince and probably having a lot of royal responsibilities because of reasons."

"Possibly Thor's advisor, if he'd let me," said Loki.

"Is that even a question?" said Thor.

"Damn, you're getting busier and busier," said Tony. "Just…don't forget about us, okay? I know time passes really slowly for you guys up here, but time passes super fast on Earth, so I don't want you guys to think you're playing hard to get on Asgard and by the time you come, I'm a ninety-year-old grandpa with no hair. So, remember us, okay?"

Loki pulled Tony into a hug—Tony was so caught by surprise that he spilled cloudberry juice onto his shoes.

"You fool," said Loki. "You really think I would forget any of you?"

"Aw, dammit," said Tony. "Now you're getting sentimental."

Loki pulled away, a smirk on his face. "Now, we can't have that, can we?"

"It's okay, I'll keep your secret," said Tony. "I'm off now. Going to get myself some actual Viking alcohol and see what you crazy people call a stiff drink."

"Please don't hurt yourself," said Thor.

Tony threw them a wink and a wave before disappearing to the table crowded with kegs of drink. Thor laughed, shaking his head.

"What _will _we do, brother?" Loki said.

"What will we do?" said Thor. "Father will need diplomatic visits with Midgard often, after all."

Loki chuckled, his eyes grazing the crowd. Clint was playing with Volstagg's children, strings of flowers draped over his head. Bruce chatted with some of the sorcerers, fascinated with their studies of magic and science. Steve was well acquainted with the guards of the castle, who more often than not were supposed to keep Steve out of work until they long gave up and joined him.

And Natasha…

His eyes fell upon her near the dance square, rocking back and forth from one foot to the other to the beat of the music. His heart stumbled in its beats at the sight of her and he wondered if she too planned to leave the day after tomorrow, so soon…if he would not follow her down to Midgard, just for a little longer.

"You know, Loki."

Loki turned to Thor, who was helping himself to a flagon of mead. A devilish smile played on his older brother's lips.

"Most gentlemen ought to ask the ladies for a dance," said Thor. "Not stare longingly at them from afar."

"I beg to differ," said Loki.

Thor chortled before taking a sip of his drink. Loki looked back at Natasha, who had closed her eyes now and swayed on the spot, arms raised delicately in dance. His heart ached in a wonderful way just watching her.

"Thor," said Loki.

"Hm?" Thor said with a ridiculously smug quirk of the eyebrows. Suddenly Loki wondered if he had somehow rubbed off on Thor after all this time.

"I'll have to ask you to excuse me," said Loki.

Thor blinked before his face cracked open into a wide smile, but Loki had no eyes for anything else anymore. He blindly set down his cup and silently weaved through the crowd, eyes fastened on her as if she was the entire world.

He never saw Thor watch his retreating back with a laugh so hearty nothing in the world could break it. Never saw how Thor chuckled into his cup and shook his head, watching as Loki took her hands and filled in the gaps of her dance, leaning in so close to her that their lips were just breaths away.

"Welcome home, brother," Thor said. He turned his gaze away just in time to give them privacy. His words were lost in his smile.

"Welcome home."

_fin_


End file.
